PR 

6009 

R8 

J6 

1920 


LIBRARY 

University  of 

CaJifornia 

Irvine 


JOHN  FERGUSON 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

NOVELS 

MRS.  MARTIN'S  MAN. 
ALICE  AND  A  FAMILY. 
CHANGING  WINDS. 
THE  FOOLISH  LOVERS. 

SHORT  STORIES 
EIGHT  O'CLOCK  AND  OTHER  STUDIES. 

PLAYS 

FOUR  IRISH  PLAYS 
JOHN  FERGUSON 


JOHN  FERGUSON 

A  PLAY  IN  FOUR  ACTS 


BY 

ST.  JOHN  G.  ERVINE 


NEW  EDITION 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  TH1 
AUTHOR 


COPYRIGHT,  1915,  AND  1920 
BY  ST.  JOHN  G.  ERVINE 


New  Edition,  Much,  1920 


TO 

THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  GRANDMOTHER 

MARGARET  GREER 


PREFACE 

The  issue  of  a  new  edition  of  John  Ferguson  gives  me 
an  opportunity  to  do  something  that  I  have  long  wished 
to  do:  publicly  to  thank  the  actors  and  actresses  who  per- 
formed the  play  at  the  Garrick  and  Fulton  Theatres  in 
New  York  from  May  until  October,  1919.  Circumstances 
prevented  me  from  witnessing  the  performance,  but  the 
praise  of  my  friends,  English  and  American,  who  saw  it 
convinced  me  that  it  must  have  been  remarkably  good; 
and,  indeed,  after  seeing  the  production  of  Tolstoy's 
"  The  Power  of  Darkness  "  at  the  Garrick  Theatre  in  Jan- 
uary of  this  year,  I  feel  certain  that  all  of  the  plays  per- 
formed by  the  Theatre  Guild  of  New  York  will  be  well 
acted  and  beautifully  produced.  I  am  pleased  to  think 
that  I  have  had  a  share  in  helping  to  establish  a  gallant 
enterprise,  and  I  gladly  subscribe  myself  the  debtor  and 
grateful  friend  of  the  good  servants  of  art  who  belong  to 
the  Guild. 

The  peculiar  success  of  this  play  in  America  ...  a 
tragic  piece  of  foreign  origin  produced  at  an  unfashion- 
able theatre  by  an  unfashionable  company  .  .  .  seems  to 
have  upset  many  established  beliefs  about  the  kind  of  play 
the  public  wants.  There  is  a  curious  faith  held  by  the- 
atrical managers  that  the  more  empty  a  play  is,  the  better 
will  the  generality  of  audiences  like  it,  and  large  sums  of 
money  are  expended  annually  by  these  managers  in  the 

vii 


viii  Preface 

production  of  puerile  plays  in  the  hope  that  one  of  them 
will  be  sufficiently  silly  to  make  the  fortune  of  its  pro- 
ducer. It  is  not  my  business  to  teach  the  theatre-man- 
ager his  business,  but  I  sometimes  wonder  whether  his 
theory  would  be  supported  by  a  study  of  theatrical 
balance-sheets.  We  are  often  told  of  the  great  sums  of 
money  made  out  of  this  or  that  drivelling  revue,  but  are 
told  singularly  little  of  the  bankruptcies  that  have  also 
been  caused  by  drivelling  revues.  I  imagine  that  if  an 
accurate  financial  statement  covering  the  history  of  the 
theatre  either  in  America  or  in  England  were  prepared, 
it  would  be  found  that  the  amount  of  money  irretrievably 
lost  on  "  popular  "  pieces  would  be  far  in  excess  of  the 
amount  lost  on  "  unpopular  "  pieces,  having  regard  to  the 
capital  invested  in  each;  and  I  should  not  be  astonished  to 
discover  from  such  a  balance-sheet  that  the  "  high-brow  " 
drama  had  more  or  less  paid  its  way  while  the  "  low- 
brow "  or  "  no-brow-at-all "  drama  had  not  done  so. 
But  these  are  matters  of  opinion  —  there  are  no  statistics 
available  on  which  to  found  arguments  —  and  I  do 
not  doubt  that  the  commercial  theatre-manager  who 
reads  these  words  ...  if  he  troubles  to  read  them  at  all 
.  .  .  will  at  this  point  become  convulsed  with  laughter. 
Nothing  but  bankruptcy  and  the  hell  that  has  been  spe- 
cially prepared  for  those  who  spend  their  lives  in  debasing 
the  public  taste  ...  a  hell  in  which,  for  all  eternity,  they 
will  be  compelled  to  witness  their  own  theatrical  enter- 
tainments .  .  .  will  convince  them  that  this  is  no  laugh- 
ing matter. 

As  for  me,  I  am  content.  My  belief  that  any  sincerely- 
written  play,  however  gloomy  it  may  be,  will  gain  the  sup- 
port of  the  general  public,  provided  that  it  does  not  dis- 


Preface  ix 

gust  them  with  their  kind  and  bears  a  clear  and 
indisputable  relationship  to  human  life,  is  supported  by 
my  experience  of  the  reception  given  in  America  to  John 
Ferguson.  I  have  no  illusions  about  my  play.  I  do  not 
regard  it  as  a  work  of  genius  nor  do  I  imagine  that  I  am 
the  greatest  of  all  dramatists,  living  or  dead.  There  are 
many  flaws  in  this  play,  and  I  sometimes  wish  that  I 
were  again  a  dramatic  critic  so  that  I  might  point  them 
out.  But  it  has  at  least  this  merit,  that  it  is  an  honest 
and,  I  hope,  skilful  attempt  to  put  human  beings  upon 
the  stage  as  human  beings,  and  not  as  stuffed  dummies 
hired  from  a  theatrical  costumer.  I  define  a  bad  drama- 
tist as  a  man  who  goes  into  the  theatre  and  never  comes 
out  again;  and  I  define  a  good  dramatist  as  a  man  who 
is  constantly  checking  the  creatures  of  his  imagination 
with  the  creatures  who  live  around  him.  Imagination, 
unchecked  by  experience,  becomes  violence  or  sentimen- 
tality, and  the  writer  who  does  not  frequently  renew  his 
contacts  with  human  beings  is  in  desperate  danger  of  sub- 
stituting rhetoric  for  speech  and  opinions  for  feelings; 
and  the  end  of  such  men  is  written  in  oblivion. 

John  Ferguson  is  a  tragic  play,  but  I  think  I  may 
claim  that  it  is  not  a  depressing  play.  It  does  not  dis- 
gust with  humanity  those  who  read  it  or  see  it  performed. 
An  audience  should  leave  a  theatre,  after  seeing  a  tragedy, 
in  a  state  of  pride  .  .  .  proud  that  they  are  human  and 
of  the  same  species  as  the  tragic  figures;  and  it  is  inter- 
esting to  find  that  tragedy  has  been  the  main  fore  of  the 
Heroic  Ages.  We  think  of  Greece  more  as  the  home  of 
Euripides  than  of  the  home  of  Aristophanes,  and  we 
think  of  Elizabethan  England  as  the  home  of  the  Shake- 


x  Preface 

speare  who  wrote  Hamlet  and  Lear  and  Romeo  and  Juliet 
rather  than  the  home  of  the  Shakespeare  who  wrote  As 
You  Like  It  and  Twelfth  Night  and  The  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor.  The  most  certain  of  all  the  signs  of  decadence 
in  a  nation  is  the  fact  that  it  cannot  witness  the  per- 
formance of  tragedy  but  must  ever  be  titillated  by  comic 
entertainments.  My  experience  as  a  soldier  showed  me 
that  men  whose  lives  were  passed  in  danger  were  less 
easily  satisfied  by  trivial  performances  than  were  the 
civilians  living  in  comfort  and  security.  Home  on  leave 
from  France,  I  saw  expensively-mounted  entertainments 
in  London  theatres,  immensely  satisfying  to  civilians, 
which,  had  they  been  produced  by  a  Concert  Party  at  the 
Front,  would  have  caused  the  officers  in  charge  to  be 
courtmartialed.  Soldiers  got  very  little  pleasure  from 
these  things,  to  which  they  were  taken  by  their  civilian 
feminine  relatives,  and  I  have  often  heard  officers  in 
France,  newly  back  from  leave,  answer,  when  asked  what 
sort  of  plays  were  to  be  seen  in  town,  "  Oh,  the  usual 
damned  rot!  "  And  in  time,  all  these  puerile  revues  and 
cheap  plays  became  known  among  soldiers  as  civilian 
stuff.  Shakespeare  and  Bernard  Shaw,  driven  out  of  the 
commercial  theatre  during  the  war,  found  a  home  in  the 
soldiers'  theatres  in  France;  and  it  is  only  since  the  Armis- 
tice and  the  demobilization  of  the  fighting  men  that  de- 
cent drama  has  contrived  to  get  back  to  the  English  stage. 
Mr.  John  Drinkwater's  noble  play,  Abraham  Lincoln, 
Rostand's  Cyrano  de  Bergerac,  Shakespeare's  Twelfth 
Night  and  The  Merchant  of  Venice  and  Julius  Ccssar, 
Sheridan's  The  School  for  Scandal,  Mr.  Lennox  Robin- 
son's The  Lost  Leader,  Mr.  Shaw's  Arms  and  the  Man, 
and  lastly,  but  most  remarkably  of  all,  The  Trojan 


Preface  xi 

Women  of  Euripides  have  all  drawn  large  and  enthusi- 
astic audiences  to  the  theatre  in  London,  since  the  sign- 
ing of  the  Armistice,  and  in  spite  of  heat  waves  and  rail- 
way strikes,  at  a  time  when  "  popular  "  pieces  were  failing 
to  pay  the  cost  of  their  advertisements.  The  Trojan 
Women  was  actually  performed  with  success  in  a  London 
music-hall ! 

I  am  not  a  prophet  and  I  cannot  interpret  signs;  but 
surely  I  am  not  over-optimistic  in  believing  that  there  is 
a  public  which  will  support  intelligent  and  sincere  drama 
and  is  not  unwilling  to  see  the  work  of  the  master - 
dramatist  decently  done.  The  fact  that  John  Ferguson 
was  able  to  draw  large  audiences  for  six  months,  includ- 
ing the  period  of  the  hot  weather  and  the  Actors'  Strike, 
indicates,  does  it  not,  that  there  are  many  people  in  New 
York  who  will  pay  to  see  such  plays  as  mine?  And  will 
not  these  people  pay  to  see  much  better  plays  than  mine? 
I  think  they  will.  I  think  that  the  commercial  manager 
does  an  injustice  to  the  play-going  public  when  he  as- 
sumes that  nothing  is  too  silly  or  vulgar  for  them;  and 
the  wish  of  my  life  is  that  the  success  of  my  play  in 
America  will  induce  the  commercial  managers  to  give  the 
American  people  a  chance  to  see  performed  in  a  public 
theatre  that  vital,  native  drama  which  is,  I  am  quite  cer- 
tain, being  produced  somewhere  in  this  great  continent. 
I  like  to  think  that  a  young  man,  disregarding  discour- 
agements, is  writing  American  plays  ...  in  some  remote 
village,  perhaps  .  .  .  that  will  reveal  his  country  not  only 
to  his  countrymen  but  to  the  world  with  that  degree  of 
intimacy  and  understanding  that  I  find  in  the  books  of 
Mr.  Winston  Churchill,  "  O.  Henry,"  Mrs.  Edith 
Wharton  and  Mr.  Ernest  Poole.  There  must  be  in  Amer- 


xii  Preface 

ica,  many  dramatists  who  can  write  plays  that  are  on  the 
level  of  Mr.  Poole's  great  novel,  The  Harbor.  Why  will 
the  commercial  manager  not  let  these  dramatists  prove  that 
they  exist  and  have  the  power  and  the  skill  to  do  what 
Vaughn  Moody  did  in  The  Great  Divide,  what  the  nov- 
elists I  have  named  have  done  in  fiction.  People  tell 
me  that  the  reception  given  to  John  Ferguson  has  caused 
the  commercial  manager  to  re-consider  his  theory,  and 
even  as  I  write,  I  hear  the  praises  of  Mr.  Eugene  O'Neill's 
play,  Beyond  the  Horizon.  If  I  could  feel  that  I  had 
cleared  the  way  for  that  young  American  dramatist  whom 
I  imagine  in  a  remote  village  or  in  some  college  hall 
striving  to  express  himself  greatly  in  drama,  I  should 
feel  proud  and  happy,  and  my  play  would  have  a  merit 
in  my  mind  surpassing  any  other  merit  it  may  possess. 

ST.  JOHN  ERVINE. 
Chicago,  February  7,  1920. 


CHARACTERS 

JOHN  FERGUSON,  a  farmer. 

SARAH  FERGUSON,  his  wife. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON,  his  son. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON,  his  daughter. 

JAMES  CAESAR,  a  grocer. 

HEXRY  WITHEROW,  a  farmer  and  miller. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  MAGRATH,  a  beggar. 

SAM  MAWHINNEY,  a  postman. 

SERGEANT  RERNAGHAN,  R.I.C. 

Two  CONSTABLES. 

A  CROWD  OF  MEN  AND  WOMEN,  BOYS  AND  GIRLS. 

The  Scene  is  laid  in  the  kitchen  of  a  farm-house  in  County 
Down. 

The  Time  is  in  the  late  summer  of  the  year  188-. 

"  CLUTIE  "  is  a  slang  expression  meaning  "  left-handed." 

There  is  an  interval  of  an  hour  between  the  First  and  Second 
Acts;  of  a  night  between  the  Second  and  Third;  and  of  a  fortnight 
between  the  Third  and  Fourth. 


John  Ferguson  was  performed  for  the  first  time  in  America 
at  the  Garrick  Theatre,  New  York,  by  the  Theatre  Guild,  on 
May  I2th,  1919.  It  was  produced  by  Mr.  Augustin  Duncan 
with  the  following  cast: 

JOHN  FERGUSON   Augustin  Duncan 

SARAH  FERGUSON   Helen  Westley 

ANDREW  FERGUSON    Rollo  Peters 

HANNAH   FERGUSON    Helen  Freeman 

JAMES  CESAR Dudley  Digges 

"CLUTIE"  JOHN  MAGRATH Henry  Herbert 

HENRY  WITHEROW   Gordon  Burby 

SERGEANT  KERNAGHAN  Michael  Carr 

SAM  MAWHINNEY  . .  Walter  Geer 


ACT  I 

It  is  the  afternoon  of  a  warm  day  in  the  late  summer  of  the 
year  188-,  and  soft  sunlight  enters  the  kitchen  of 
JOHN  FERGUSON'S  farm  through  the  windows  and  the 
open  door.  The  kitchen  is  comfortably  furnished, 
although  the  FERGUSONS  are  no  longer  prosperous,  for 
MRS.  FERGUSON,  who  is  now  sitting  by  the  door, 
mending  socks,  takes  great  pride  in  maintaining  the 
appearance  of  fortune.  She  is  a  short,  stout,  healthy 
woman,  pleasant  and  agreeable  even  when  she  is  as 
harassed  as  she  now  is,  and  her  mind  is  moulded  in 
the  kindliness  of  an  Ulster  woman.  She  is  not  a  very 
intelligent  woman,  and  so  her  sympathies  are  some- 
times flattened  by  her  lack  of  perception,  but,  within 
her  limitations,  she  is  an  excellent  wife  and  a  very 
good  mother. 

Her  husband,  JOHN  FERGUSON,  is  sitting  in  front 
of  the  turf  fire,  with  a  rug  wrapped  round  his  legs. 
He  is  reading  a  large  Bible  to  himself,  and  his  lips 
move  as  if  he  were  silently  pronouncing  each  word  to 
himself.  He  is  an  elderly,  tired,  delicate-looking 
man,  and  his  dark  beard  is  turning  grey.  His  eyes 
are  set  deeply  in  his  head,  and  they  are  full  of  a  dark, 
glowing  colour.  His  voice  is  slow  but  very  firm,  al- 
though his  words  are  gentle.  He  looks  like  a  por- 
trait of  Moses  —  not  that  Moses  who  led  the  Israelites 
out  of  Egypt  and  was  a  great  captain  of  hosts,  but  the 
7 


8  John  Ferguson 

Moses  who  surveyed  the  Promised  Land  from  Mount 
Nebo  in  the  Plains  of  Moab. 

The  furniture  of  the  kitchen  is  good  and  substan- 
tial, and  of  the  sort  that  one  sees  in  a  decent  home- 
stead. The  door  leading  to  the  loaning  ("  loanie  ") 
or  lane  in  front  of  the  house  is  in  the  wall  at  the  back 
of  the  scene.  A  person  entering  the  kitchen  from  the 
"  loanie  "  would  have  a  large  window  on  his  right 
hand  in  the  same  wall  as  the  door,  and  a  staircase  on 
his  left  hand.  Beyond  the  staircase,  near  the  front  of 
the  scene,  is  a  door  leading  to  other  rooms  and  also  to 
the  scullery  and  back  of  the  farm.  The  fireplace  is 
in  the  wall  opposite  that  in  which  the  staircase  is  set. 
Under  the  window  is  a  large  sofa.  A  dresser  is  set 
between  the  foot  of  the  staircase  and  the  door  leading 
to  the  yard.  A  large  table  sits  in  the  centre  of  the 
room.  JOHN  FERGUSON'S  chair  now  stands  against 
one  end  of  this  table,  so  that  he  can  place  his  Bible 
on  it  easily  when  he  is  tired  of  holding  it.  The  orna- 
ments are  those  customary  in  such  a  house.  Over 
the  fireplace  a  gun  is  suspended. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  I  wonder  where  Hannah  is.  I 
haven't  seen  her  for  an  hour  past. 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (without  looking  up).  She's  mebbe  in 
the  fields  with  Andrew.  Listen  to  this,  Sarah!  (He 
raises  his  voice  as  he  reads  from  the  thirtieth  of  the  Psalms 
of  David.)  "  I  will  extol  thee,  O  Lord;  for  thou  hast 
lifted  me  up,  and  hast  not  made  my  foes  to  rejoice  over  me. 
O  Lord,  my  God,  I  cried  unto  thee,  and  thou  hast  healed 
me.  O  Lord,  thou  hast  brought  up  my  soul  from  the 
grave:  thou  hast  kept  me  alive,  that  I  should  not  go  down 


John  Ferguson  9 

into  the  pit.  Sing  unto  the  Lord,  O  ye  saints  of  his,  and 
give  thanks  at  the  remembrance  of  his  holiness.  (He  em- 
phasises what  follows.)  For  his  anger  endureth  but  a 
moment;  in  his  favour  is  life:  weeping  may  endure  for  a 
night,  but  joy  cometh  in  the  morning."  (He  turns  to  his 
wife. )  Do  you  hear  that,  Sarah  ?  There's  great  comfort 
for  you ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  indeed,  I  hope  it  will,  for  we 
have  need  of  joy  in  this  house.  We've  bore  enough 
trouble.  Here's  the  farm  mortgaged  up  to  the  hilt,  and 
you  sick  and  not  able  to  do  no  work  this  long  while,  and 
Henry  Witherow  bothering  you  for  the  money  you  owe 
him!  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (holding  up  the  Bible  so  that  she  can 
see  it).  "  Weeping  may  endure  for  a  night,"  Sarah,  "  but 
joy  cometh  in  the  morning."  Them's  grand  words! 
Don't  be  complaining  now,  for  sure  God  never  deserts  His 
own  people.  We  have  His  word  for  that,  Sarah.  We're 
tried  a  while,  and  then  we're  given  our  reward. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  we've  earned  ours  anyway! 
It's  a  great  pity  Andrew's  such  a  poor  hand  on  the  farm. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  The  lad  was  never  meant  for  the 
land,  Sarah.  You  know  rightly  I  dedicated  him  to  the 
ministry  the  day  he  was  born.  It  was  a  sore  blow  to  the 
lad  when  I  told  him  it  couldn't  be  managed,  but  it  was  a 
sorer  blow  to  me. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  indeed,  it  was,  John.  You  were 
always  quaren  set  on  Andrew. 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (proudly).  He's  my  son!  I  have 
great  hopes  of  Andrew. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  well,  you  would  have  done 
better,  mebbe,  to  let  him  go  on  with  his  learning,  for  he's 


io  John  Ferguson 

no  use  at  all  on  the  farm.  I  hope  to  my  goodness  his  uncle 
Andrew'll  send  the  money  to  pay  the  mortgage.  It's 
quare  him  not  writing  this  long  while. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  He's  mebbe  had  bother.  He'll  write 
if  he  has  the  money  by  him.  You  may  be  sure  of  that. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  He  never  was  much  of  a  one  for  giv- 
ing anything  away,  your  brother  Andrew,  and  mebbe  he'll 
disappoint  you  the  same  as  he's  disappointed  many  an- 
other person. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  know  he's  near  with  money,  but  all 
the  same  I  think  he'll  be  willing  to  lend  me  the  price  of  the 
mortgage.  Him  and  me  was  born  in  this  house,  and  we 
played  here  together  as  wee  lads.  Our  da  was  born  here 
too,  and  his  da  before  him.  Andrew  couldn't  let  the  farm 
go  out  of  the  family  after  all  them  generations. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  I  trust,  indeed,  he'll  not,  but  it's  a 
quare  poor  look-out  when  you  think  he's  never  answered 
your  letters  to  him  this  long  time,  and  him  knowing  well 
you  were  sick  and  helpless.  Dear  knows  what'll  become 
of  us  all  if  he  doesn't  send  the  money !  Henry  Witherow's 
a  hard  man,  John,  and  he'll  not  be  willing  to  wait  long. 
(She  rises  and  looks  out  of  the  door.)  Here's  Hannah 
now !  I  wonder  is  the  mail  in  yet ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  We'll  know  in  a  wee  while.  (He 
takes  up  the  Bible  again  and  resumes  his  reading. ) 

[HANNAH  FERGUSON,  a  beautiful  girl  of 
twenty,  enters  the  kitchen  from  the 
"  loanie."  Her  thick  black  hair  is  un- 
covered. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Is  the  mail  in  yet? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (wearily).  The  long-car  only  went 
by  a  minute  or  two  ago.  I  met  "  Clutie  "  John  at  the  end 


John  Ferguson  II 

of  the  loanie,  and  he  said  the  mail  would  be  late  the  day. 
(She  goes  to  the  window-seat  and  sits  downs.)  It's  like 
Sam  Mawhinney  to  be  late  the  time  we  want  him  to  be 
early. 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (with  gentle  rebuke  in  his  voice). 
Hannah,  child!  You  don't  know  what  trouble  the  man 
may  have  had.  It  might  not  be  his  fault  the  mail's  late. 
Sometimes  there's  a  storm  at  sea,  and  that  keeps  the  boats 
back.  Mebbe  the  train  was  delayed.  Many's  a  thing 
might  have  happened.  You  shouldn't  be  blaming  Sam  for 
what's  mebbe  not  his  fault. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (going  to  her  father,  and  putting 
her  arms  round  his  neck).  Da,  dear,  aren't  you  the  quare 
one  for  making  excuses  for  people ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  sure,  a  lot  of  them  needs  it. 

[She  has  resumed  her  seat  by  the  door  and  is 
again  busy  with  her  work  of  mending 
socks. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  How're  you  now,  da?  Are  you 
better  nor  you  were  a  while  ago? 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (cheerfully).  Ah,  boys-a-boys,  Han- 
nah, what  did  you  mind  me  of  it  for?  I  was  near  forget- 
ting I  was  sick  at  all.  That  shows  I'm  better  in  myself, 
doesn't  it  now? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (looking  anxiously  at  him).  You're 
not  letting  on,  are  you,  da  ? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Letting  on,  indeed!  Did  you  ever 
know  your  da  to  let  on  about  anything? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Indeed,  now,  and  I  let  on  many's  a 
time!  There's  whiles,  when  I'm  sitting  here  before  the 
fire,  or  mebbe  there  in  front  of  the  door  when  the  days  is 
warm,  I  pretend  to  myself  I'm  better  again  and  can  go  out 


12  John  Ferguson 

and  do  a  day's  work  in  the  fields  with  any  man.  (His 
voice  drops  into  complaint. )  I  'haven't  been  in  the  fields 
this  long  time. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (sharply) .  Now,  don't  be  going  and 
making  yourself  unhappy, 'John! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  No,  woman,  I  .won't.  But  it's  hard 
for  a  man  to  be  sitting  here  with  a  rug  wrapped  round  his 
legs,  and  him  not  able  to  do  a  hand's  turn  for  his  wife  and 
family. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (fondling  him).  Ah,  da,  dear! 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (complaint  now  controlling  his  voice). 
And  me  the  man  that  was  always  active !  There  wasn't  a 
one  in  the  place  could  beat  me  at  the  reaping,  not  one.  .  .  . 
(He  remembers  the  consolations  of  his  faith,  although  his 
voice  falters  as  he  speaks  the  next  sentence. )  But  it's  the 
will  of  God!  (He  pauses  for  a  moment,  and  then  his 
mind  wanders  again  to  his  illness.)  Sometimes,  when  I 
hear  the  men  in  the  fields,  cutting  the  corn  and  gathering 
the  harvest,  and  them  shouting  to  one  another  and  laugh- 
ing hearty  together,  I  near  cry.  Me  not  able  to  go  out  and 
help  them  to  bring  in  the  harvest  .  .  .  tied  here  like  a  wee 
child!  .  .  . 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (tearfully).  Da,  da,  don't  go  on 
that  way! 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (impatiently).  Ah,  quit,  the  two  of 
you!  Hannah,  I'm  surprised  at  you  coming  in  and  upset- 
ting your  da,  and  him  keeping  his  heart  up  all  day ! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I  didn't  mean  to  bother  you,  da. 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (patting  her  hair).  No,  daughter,  you 
didn't.  I  know  that  rightly.  (Stirring  himself  and 
speaking  more  briskly.)  Ah,  well!  "Weeping  may  en- 


John  Ferguson  13 

dure  for  a  night,  but  joy  cometh  in  the  morning."  God 
always  has  a  word  to  comfort  you  when  your  heart's  down. 
Mebbe  there's  a  letter  in  Sam  Mawhinney's  bag  this  min- 
ute that'll  cheer  us  all  up,  I'm  a  poor,  mealy  man  to  be 
complaining  like  that,  Hannah,  when  there's  many  is 
worse  off  nor  me  ...  only  I  can't  help  it  sometimes.  It's 
when  the  men  are  coming  down  the  "  loanie  "  in  the  even- 
ing with  their  scythes  over  their  shoulders,  and  then  tired 
and  sweating  and  hungry  for  their  suppers!  .  .  .  Well, 
God  knows  His  own  ways  best,  and  there's  many  in  the 
world  has  a  harder  time  nor  I  have. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (trying  to  take  his  mind  off  his  ill- 
ness) .  I  was  letting  on  too,  da ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  indeed,  you  might  have  em- 
ployed your  time  to  better  advantage,  Hannah.  You  can 
let  on  till  you're  tired,  but  you'll  never  alter  anything  that 
way. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  What  were  you  letting  on,  daughter? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I  was  letting  on  that  my  Uncle 
Andrew  had  sent  you  all  the  money  you  need ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  I  hope  your  pretence  will  come 
true,  for  if  he  doesn't,  we'll  have  to  flit  out  of  this.  It'll 
break  your  da's  heart  to  go,  and  it'll  break  my  heart  too. 
(She  rises  and  puts  her  work  on  the  dresser.)  I  come 
here  as  a  young  girl,  no  older  nor  yourself,  Hannah,  to  be 
married  on  your  da,  and  I've  lived  here  ever  since.  I'll 
never  be  happy  nowhere  else. 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (ruminatingly).  Ay,  it'll  be  hard  to 

go- 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  There's  no  sense  or  purpose  in  it, 
God  forgive  me  for  saying  itl 


14  John  Ferguson 


JOHN  FERGUSON.  There's  a  meaning  in  it,  whatever 
happens.  I  can't  see  God's  purpose,  but  I  know  well 
there  is  one.  His  hand  never  makes  a  mistake. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (bitterly).  It's  quare  and  hard  to 
see  what  purpose  there  is  in  misfortune  and  trouble  for 
people  that  never  done  nothing  to  deserve  it ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  quit  it,  Hannah!  If  God  was 
to  hear  you  saying  the  like  of  that,  he'd  mebbe  strike  you 
dead. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Daughter,  dear,  you're  a  young  slip 
of  a  girl,  or  you'd  never  talk  that  way.  (Sternly.)  Do 
you  think  God  doesn't  know  how  to  look  after  His  own 
world  ?  ( The  severity  of  his  voice  relaxes. )  Everything 
that  happens  is  made  to  happen,  and  everything  in  the 
world,  the  commonest  wee  fly  in  the  bushes  before  the  door 
there,  has  a  purpose  and  a  meaning.  There's  things  hid 
from  you  and  me  because  we're  not  fit  to  know  them,  but 
the  more  we  fill  ourselves  with  the  glory  of  God,  the  better 
we  get  to  understand  the  world.  It's  people  that's  full  of 
sin,  Hannah,  that  can't  see  or  understand.  That's  sin  — 
not  knowing  or  understanding !  Ignorance  is  sin.  Keep- 
ing your  mind  shut  is  sin.  Not  letting  the  sun  and  the 
air  and  the  warmth  of  God  into  your  heart  —  that's  sin, 
Hannah ! 

[He  sinks  back  in  his  chair,  fatigued  by  his 
outburst. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  There,  now,  you've  made  yourself 
tired. 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (weakly).  I'm  all  right,  woman! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (going  towards  the  door).  I  wish 
to  my  goodness  that  man  Mawhinney  would  come  with  the 
letters ! 


John  Ferguson  15 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  He'll  soon  be  here  now. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (looking  out).  He's  never  in  sight 
yet!  (She  speaks  the  next  sentence  petulantly,  returning 
to  her  seat  on  the  sofa  as  she  does  so.)  Och,  here's  that 
man,  Jimmy  Caesar!  I  wonder  what  he  wants! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  but  it's  you 
he's  after!  This  isn't  the  first  time  he's  been  here  lately, 
nor  yet  the  second. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (crossly).  Och,  ma,  quit  talking! 
I  wouldn't  marry  him  if  he  was  the  last  man  in  the  world. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  dear  bless  us,  if  he  was  the 
last  man  in  the  world,  and  I  wanted  him  for  myself,  I 
wouldn't  like  to  run  the  risk  of  making  you  an  offer  of 
him!  Sure,  what's  wrong  with  the  man? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (contemptuously).  He's  an  old 
collie,  that's  what  he  is !  He  has  no  spirit  in  him  at  all ! 
Look  at  the  way  he  goes  on  about  Henry  Witherow  and 
what  he'll  do  to  him  when  he  gets  the  chance !  He's  had 
many  a  chance,  but  he's  done  nothing. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Would  you  have  him  kill  the  man? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  He  shouldn't  go  about  the  place 
threatening  to  have  Witherow 's  life  when  he  doesn't  mean 
to  take  it. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Daughter,  dear,  I  don't  like  to  hear 
you  speaking  so  bitterly.  It's  foolish  of  Jimmy  Caesar 
to  talk  in  the  wild  way  he  does,  though,  dear  knows,  he's 
had  great  provocation.  But  he  doesn't  mean  the  half  he 
says! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  he  shouldn't  say  it  then! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  now,  Hannah,  if  we  were  all  to 
say  just  what  we  meant,  more  nor  half  of  us  would  be 
struck  dumb. 


16  John  Ferguson 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  you're  right,  woman!  You  are, 
indeed !  Henry  Witherow's  a  hard  man,  and  he  put  many 
an  indignity  on  Jimmy  Caesar's  family.  If  you  knew  all 
he's  had  to  bear,  Hannah,  you'd  pity  him,  and  not  be  say- 
ing hard  words  against  him. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  indeed,  John !  Witherow  11  not 
be  soft  on  us  if  we  can't  pay  him  what  we  owe  him,  and 
then,  Hannah,  you'll  mebbe  understand  what  Jimmy 
Caesar's  feelings  are. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I'll  never  understand  the  feelings 
of  a  collie.  I  like  a  man  to  have  a  spirit  and  do  what  he's 
said  he'd  do,  or  else  keep  his  tongue  quiet  in  his  head. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Now,  it's  brave  and  hard  to  be  hav- 
ing a  spirit  in  these  times.  Sure,  the  man  must  have  some 
pluck  in  him  to  turn  round  and  make  a  good  business  for 
himself  after  him  losing  near  every  halfpenny  he  had,  and 
that  man  Witherow  near  bankrupting  him,  and  killing  his 
old  da  and  ma  with  grief.  That's  not  a  poor,  paltry 
spirit,  is  it? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  You'd  better  quit  talking  about  him 
now.  He'll  step  in  the  door  any  minute.  Where  was  he 
when  you  saw  him,  Hannah  ? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  He  was  at  the  foot  of  the 
"  loanie." 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  It's  a  credit  to  him  the  way  he's 
slaved  and  saved.  I  daresay  he  has  a  big  bit  of  money 
saved  up  in  the  Ulster  Bank.  (She  goes  to  the  door  and 
looks  out.)  Ay,  here  he's  coming!  (She  calls  out  to 
CAESAR.)  Is  that  you,  Jimmy?  (CAESAR  is  heard  to 
shout  in  response.)  If  Hannah  was  to  marry  him,  the 
way  he  wants  her.  .  .  . 


John  Ferguson  17 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I  wouldn't  marry  him  if  he  was 
rolling  in  riches  and  had  gallons  of  gold  I 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (returning  to  the  kitchen).  Och, 
wheesht  with  you!  Sure,  the  man's  right  enough,  and 
anyway  one  man's  no  worse  nor  another! 

[JAMES  CAESAR  comes  to  the  door.    He  is  a 
mean-looking  man,  about  thirty-five  years 
of  age,  and  his  look  of  meanness  is  not 
mitigated  by  his  air  of  prosperity.     His 
movements  are  awkward,  and  his  speech 
is  nervous.     He  is  very  eager  to  please 
HANNAH,  whom  he  pretends  not  to  see. 
JAMES  CAESAR.  Good-day  to  you  all ! 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  Good-day  to  you,  Jimmy! 
JAMES  CAESAR  (hesitating  at  the  door).  Can  I  come  in? 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  Sure,  do!     You  know  you're  always 
welcome  here,  Jimmy! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (entering).  It's  kind  of  you  to  say  that! 
(He  puts  his  hat  on  the  dresser.)     It's  a  brave  day! 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  It's  not  so  bad. 
JAMES  CAESAR.  It'll  do  good  to  harvest.     (Pretending 
to  see  HANNAH  for  the  first  time. )     Is  that  you,  Hannah  ? 
I  didn't  see  you  when  I  come  in  first.     I  hope  you're  keep- 
ing your  health  ? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (coldly).  I'm  bravely,  thank  you! 
JAMES  CAESAR.  I  didn't  see  you  this  while  back,  and  I 
was  wondering  to  myself  were  you  not  well  or  something. 
I'm  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  fine  on  it.     ( To  JOHN  FER- 
GUSON.)    Did  you  hear  from  your  brother  Andrew,  John? 
SARAH    FERGUSON.  Sam    Mawhinney's    not    got    this 
length  yet.    Did  you  see  him  as  you  were  coming  up? 


i8  John  Ferguson 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I  did  not.  Are  you  keeping  well, 
John? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I'm  as  well  as  can  be  expected, 
Jimmy. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  That's  good.  I'm  glad  to  hear  it 
It'll  be  a  great  blow  to  you  if  you  have  to  leave  the  farm. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  It  will. 

JAMES  CAESAR  (bitterness  growing  into  his  voice).  Ay, 
it's  a  quare  blow  to  any  man  to  have  to  leave  the  house  he 
was  born  and  reared  in,  the  way  I  had  to  do.  It's  With- 
erow  has  your  mortgage,  isn't  it? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  God  curse  him! 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (reproachfully).  Jimmy,  Jimmy! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Ah,  you're  a  forgiving  man,  John  Fer- 
guson, but  I'm  not,  and  never  will  be.  Look  at  the  way 
he  treated  me  and  mine.  I've  never  forgot  that,  and  I 
never  will  if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred  years  old.  (Vio- 
lently.) I'll  choke  the  life  out  of  him  one  of  these  days ! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (turning  away  scornfully).  Ah, 
quit,  for  dear  sake.  You're  always  talking,  Jimmy 
Caesar! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (ashamedly).  Ay,  I'm  always  talking, 
Hannah,  and  never  doing!  'Deed  and  you're  right! 
When  I  think  of  the  things  he  done  to  me,  I  go  near  dis- 
tracted with  shame  for  taking  it  as  quiet  as  I  have  done. 
I  go  out  sometimes,  demented  mad,  swearing  to  have  his 
life  —  and  I  come  home  again,  afeard  to  lay  a  finger  on 
him.  He's  big  and  powerful,  and  he  can  take  a  holt  of 
me  and  do  what  he  likes  with  me.  I'm  heartsore  at  my 
weakness!  That's  the  God's  truth!  You  do  well,  Han- 
nah, to  be  making  little  of  me  for  a  poor-natured  man, 


John  Ferguson  19 

but  it's  not  for  want  of  desire  I  don't  do  an  injury  to  him. 
I  haven't  the  strength  —  or  the  courage. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  What  way  is  that  to  be  talking, 
Jimmy  Caesar?  Would  you  sin  your  soul  with  a  murder? 
Man,  man,  mind  what  you're  saying  and  thinking! 
You're  in  God's  grief  already  for  the  thoughts  you  have  in 
your  head.  Them  that  has  bad  thoughts  are  no  better  in 
His  eyes  nor  them  that  does  bad  deeds. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  sure,  you  can't  help  having 
thoughts,  whatever  kind  of  a  mind  you  have ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  You  can  help  brooding  on  them. 
What  call  has  Jimmy  to  be  wasting  his  mind  on  thinking 
bad  about  Henry  Witherow?  Your  life  isn't  your  own 
to  do  what  you  like  with.  It's  God's  life,  and  no  one 
else's.  And  so  is  Henry  Witherow's.  If  you  take  his  life 
or  any  man's  life,  no  matter  why  you  do  it,  you're  robbing 
God. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  for  dear  sake,  quit  talking  about 
murders.  You'll  have  me  out  of  my  mind  with  fear. 
Sure,  nobody  wants  to  kill  anybody  these  times,  what  with 
civilisation  and  all  them  things. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (sneeringly).  Och,  ma,  don't  dis- 
turb yourself!  Sure,  you  know  it's  only  talk! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Hannah! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  What? 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I  wanted  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  and 
I  was  wondering  would  you  be  coming  down  the  town  the 
night  ? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (decisively).  I'm  not. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  now,  Hannah,  you  can  just  go 
down  and  get  a  few  things  from  Jimmy's  shop  that  I'm 
wanting.  I  was  thinking  of  going  myself,  but  sure  you 


2O  John  Ferguson 

can  just  step  that  length  and  bring  them  back  with  you; 
and  while  you're  on  the  way,  Jimmy  can  say  what  he 
wants  to  say. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (sullenly).  You  don't  need  the 
things  till  the  morning,  ma,  and  if  you  give  Jimmy  the 
order  now,  he  can  send  them  up  the  morrow. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Hannah,  I  want  to  speak  to  you  par- 
ticular.    Will  you  not  come  out  with  me  for  a  wee  while? 
HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I'm  not  in  the  way  of  going  out 
again  the  night,  thank  you! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Now,  you've  nothing  to  do,  Hannah, 
and  you  can  go  along  with  him  rightly. 
HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I've  plenty  to  do. 

[HENRY  WITHEROW  passes  the  window. 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  Lord  save  us,  there's  Witherow. 

[JAMES  CAESAR  instinctively  goes  into  the  cor- 
ner of  the  room  farthest  from  the  door. 
HENRY  WITHEROW,  a  tall,  heavy,  coarse- 
looking  man,  with  a  thick,  brutal  jaw, 
comes  into  the  kitchen.  He  has  a  look 
of  great  and  ruthless  strength,  and  all  his 
movements  are  those  of  a  man  of  decision 
and  assurance.  He  does  not  ask  if  he 
may  enter  the  kitchen  and  sit  down;  he 
assumes  that  he  may  do  so. 

HENRY  WITHEROW  (sitting  down).  Well,  how're  you 
all  the  day? 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (nervously).  We're  rightly,  thank 
God,  Mr.  Witherow! 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  I  was  just 
passing,  John,  and  I  thought  I'd  drop  in  and  hear  how 
you  were  getting  on. 


John  Ferguson  21 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  That  was  thoughtful  of  you,  Henry. 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  How're  you,  Hannah !  (He  looks 
closely  at  her.)  Boys,  but  you're  getting  to  be  a  fine-look- 
ing girl,  Hannah!  (He  turns  to  MRS.  FERGUSON.) 
You'll  be  having  all  the  boys  after  her!  Faith,  I  wouldn't 
mind  going  after  her  myself. 

JAMES  CAESAR  (pale  with  anger).  Keep  your  talk  to 
yourself,  Henry  Witherow! 

HENRY  WITHEROW  (contemptuously).  Ah,  you're 
there,  are  you?  You  haven't  a  notion  of  him,  have  you, 
Hannah  ? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Your  manners  could  be  better, 
Mr.  Witherow. 

HENRY  WITHEROW  (laughing).  Could  they,  now? 
And  who  would  improve  them,  eh?  Mr.  James  Caesar, 
Esquire,  mebbe? 

JAMES  CAESAR.  We  want  no  discourse  with  you,  Henry 
Witherow.  Your  presence  in  this  house  is  not  wel- 
come! .  .  . 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  Oh,  indeed!  Have  you  bought 
the  house?  I've  heard  nothing  about  the  sale,  and  I  think 
I  should  have  heard  something  about  it.  I  hold  the  mort- 
gage, you  know.  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  There's  no  need  for  bitter  talk, 
Henry.  Jimmy  forgot  himself. 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  Ah,  well,  as  long  as  he  admits  it 
and  says  he's  sorry! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I'm  not  sorry. 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  God  help  you,  your  tongue's  the 
strongest  part  of  you.  (To  JOHN  FERGUSON.)  Now 
that  I'm  here,  John,  perhaps  we  could  discuss  a  wee  mat- 
ter of  business.  I  don't  suppose  you  want  to  talk  about 


22  John  Ferguson 

your  affairs  before  all  the  neighbours,  and  so  if  Mr. 
James  Caesar  will  attend  to  his  shop.  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (to  HANNAH).  You  can  go  down  to 
the  shop  with  him  now,  daughter,  and  leave  your  da  and 
me  to  talk  to  Mr.  Witherow.  (She  speaks  quietly  to  HAN- 
NAH.) For  God's  sake,  Hannah,  have  him  if  he  asks  you. 
Witherow  '11  not  spare  us,  and  mebbe  Jimmy  '11  pay  the 
mortgage. 

HENRY  WITHEROW  (to  JOHN  FERGUSON).  I  suppose 
you  haven't  had  any  word  from  Andrew  yet? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Not  yet,  Henry. 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  H'm,  that's  bad! 

[SAM  MAWHINNEY,  the  postman,  goes  past 
the  window  and  then  past  the  door. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Lord  bless  us,  there's  Sam  Mawhin- 
ney  away  past  the  door.  (She  runs  to  the  door.)  Hi,  Sam, 
are  you  going  past  without  giving  us  our  letter? 

SAM  MAWHINNEY  (coming  to  the  door).  What  letter, 
Mrs.  Ferguson? 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (anxiously).  Haven't  you  one  for 
us?  .  .  . 

SAM  MAWHINNEY.  I  have  not. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  You  haven't!  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Oh,  God  save  us,  he  hasn't  written 
after  all! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Isn't  the  American  mail  in  yet, 
Sam? 

SAM  MAWHINNEY.  It's  in,  right  enough.  I  left  a  letter 
at  Braniel's  from  their  daughter  over  in  Boston.  Were 
you  expecting  one  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (desolation  in  his  voice).  Ay,  Sam, 


John  Ferguson  23 

we  were  thinking  there  might  be  one,  but  it  doesn't  matter. 
We'll  not  keep  you  from  your  work. 

SAM  MAWHINNEY.  I  hope  you're  not  put  out  by  it. 
It's  a  quare  disappointment  not  to  get  a  letter  and  you  ex- 
pecting it. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  Sam,  it  is. 
SAM  MAWHINNEY.  Well,  good-evening  to  you ! 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  Good-evening  to  you,  Sam ! 

[The  postman  quits  the  door.  SARAH  FER- 
GUSON sits  down  in  a  chair  near  the 
dresser  and  begins  to  cry.  HANNAH 
stands  at  the  window  looking  out  with 
hard,  set  eyes.  JIMMY  CAESAR  stands 
near  her,  twisting  his  cap  awkwardly  in 
his  hands.  JOHN  FERGUSON  lies  back  in 
his  chair  in  silence.  They  are  quiet  for 
a  few  moments,  during  which  HENRY 
WITHEROW  glances  about  him,  taking  in 
the  situation  with  satisfaction. 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  I  suppose  that  means  you  can't  get 
the  money  to  pay  off  the  mortgage,  John  ? 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  I'm  afeard  so,  Henry. 
HENRY  WITHEROW  (rising).  Well,  I'm  sorry  for  you. 
I  have  a  great  respect  for  you,  John,  and  I'd  do  more  for 
you  nor  for  any  one,  but  money's  very  close  at  present,  and 
I  need  every  penny  I  can  put  my  hands  on.     I'll  have  to 
stand  by  my  bargain.     I'm  sorry  for  you  all! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  That's  a  lie,  Henry  Witherow,  and  you 
know  well  it  is!  You're  the  fine  man  to  come  here  let- 
ting on  to  be  sorry  for  John  Ferguson  when  you  would  do 
anything  to  get  him  out  of  this.  If  you  were  sorry  for  him 


24  John  Ferguson 

what  did  you  call  in  your  money  for  when  you  knew  he 
couldn't  pay  it  ?  You  know  rightly  you've  had  your  heart 
set  on  the  farm  these  years  past,  and  you're  afeard  of  your 
life  he'll  mebbe  pay  the  mortgage.  .  .  . 

HENRY  WITHEROW  (going  to  him  and  shaking  him 
roughly).  I've  stood  enough  of  your  back-chat,  Caesar, 
and  I'll  stand  no  more  of  it. 

JAMES  CAESAR  (feebly).  Let  me  go,  will  you? 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  I'll  let  you  go  when  I've  done  with 
you. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (going  to  WITHEROW  and  striking 
him  in  the  face).  Go  out  of  this  house,  Henry  Witherow. 
It's  not  yours  yet,  and  till  it  is,  there's  the  door  to  you ! 

HENRY  WITHEROW  (throwing  CAESAR  from  him  so  that 
he  falls  on  the  floor,  where  he  lies  moaning  and  shivering). 
Heth,  Hannah,  you're  a  fine  woman!  You  are,  in  sang! 
It's  a  pity  to  waste  you  on  a  lad  like  that!  (He  pushes 
CAESAR  with  his  foot.)  You  ought  to  marry  a  man,  Han- 
nah, and  not  an  old  Jenny-Jo!  (He  turns  to  JOHN  FER- 
GUSON.) John,  I'll  have  to  have  a  serious  talk  with  you 
in  a  wee  while,  but  it's  no  good  stopping  to  have  it  now 
with  all  this  disturbance.  I'll  go  and  see  M'Conkey,  the 
lawyer,  first. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Very  well,  Henry. 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  I'm  sorry  for  you,  but  I  must  look 
after  myself. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  so  you  must.  It's  a  hard 
thing  to  have  to  leave  the  home  you're  used  to,  but  it  can't 
be  helped.  I'm  getting  an  old  man,  and  I  haven't  much 
longer  here.  I'd  like  to  end  my  days  where  they  were  be- 
gun, but  .  .  . 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (going  to  her  father).  Don't  take 


John  Ferguson  25 

on,  da!  There'll  mebbe  be  a  way  out  of  it  all.  (To 
WITHEROW.)  Mr.  Witherow,  will  you  not  let  the  mort- 
gage go  on  for  a  while  longer?  We've  had  a  great  deal 
of  trouble  lately,  and  my  brother  Andrew's  not  accus- 
tomed to  the  farm  yet.  If  you  were  to  give  us  more  time, 
mebbe  my  uncle'll  send  the  money  later  on  ... 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  Ay,  and  mebbe  he'll  not.  Your 
Uncle  Andrew's  not  over-anxious  to  part  with  anything  as 
far  as  I  can  see.  I'm  sorry,  Hannah,  but  I  can't  ruin  my- 
self to  oblige  other  people. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  It  was  to  be.  You  can  foreclose, 
Henry. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Andrew's  a  poor  brother  to  you, 
John,  to  let  you  be  brought  to  this  bother  and  you  sick  and 
sore. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Poor  Andrew,  he  must  be  heart- 
scalded  at  not  being  able  to  send  the  money.  He'd  have 
sent  it  if  he  had  had  it  by  him.  I  know  he  would.  I  can 
picture  him  there,  not  writing  because  he  hasn't  the  heart 
to  tell  us  he  can't  send  the  money. 

[CAESAR,  who  has  risen  from  the  floor,  conies 
to  JOHN  FERGUSON  and  speaks  almost 
hysterically. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  John,  I  know  rightly  that  Witherow 
has  set  his  heart  on  your  farm.  I  know  he  has,  and  he's 
an  old  hypocrite  if  he  says  he's  sorry  for  you!  But  I'll 
spite  him  yet,  I  will!  I'm  willing  to  pay  off  the  mortgage 
for  you  if  it  costs  me  every  penny  I  have  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (rising  and  embracing  him).  Oh, 
God  reward  you,  Jimmy! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (putting  her  aside).  If  Hannah '11  lis- 
ten to  me  . 


26  John  Ferguson 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  Ay,  if  Hannah  '11  listen  to  you ! 
Huh!  You'd  make  a  bargain  on  your  ma's  coffin,  Jimmy 
Caesar! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (weakly).  I  don't  want  nothing  more  to 
say  to  you,  Henry  Witherow.  Anything  that  passes  be- 
tween you  and  me  now  will  come  through  a  solicitor. 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  Ay,  you're  mighty  fond  of  the  law. 
You'll  get  your  fill  of  it  one  of  these  days.  (To  HAN- 
NAH. )  Well,  my  bold  girl,  are  you  going  to  take  the  fine 
offer's  been  made  for  you  here  by  Mr.  James  Caesar,  Es- 
quire. Because  I'd  like  to  know  what  the  position  is  be- 
fore I  go.  There's  no  good  in  me  going  to  M'Conkey  and 
incurring  expense  needlessly! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I  bid  you  go  before,  Mr.  Withe- 
row.  Will  you  have  me  bid  you  go  again  ? 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  Ah,  now,  quit  talking! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  It's  well  for  you  my  da's  sick  and 
there's  no  man  in  the  house  to  chastise  you  the  way  you 
deserve.  I  can't  put  you  out  myself,  so  you  must  stay  if 
you  won't  go. 

HENRY  WITHEROW  (disconcerted,  and  beginning  to 
bluster).  Oh,  come  now,  Hannah,  there's  no  need  to  go  on 
like  that. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (resuming  her  seat  on  the  sofa). 
I've  said  all  I've  got  to  say,  Mr.  Witherow.  A  decent  man 
wouldn't  be  standing  there  after  what  I've  said  to  you. 

[The  sound  of  a  tin  whistle  is  heard  outside. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Mebbe  you'll  go  now,  Witherow ! 

HENRY  WITHEROW.  If  I  go,  it'll  not  be  because  you  ask 
me!  (To  HANNAH.)  You've  a  sharp  tongue  in  your 
head,  Hannah!  I'd  like  to  cut  a  bit  of  it  off  for  you! 
(To  JOHN  FERGUSON.)  Well,  John,  you'll  mebbe  let  me 


John  Ferguson  27 

know  later  on  what  course  you'll  take  about  the  mortgage. 
I'll  be  up  at  the  mill  the  rest  of  the  day.  Good-morning 
to  you  all! 

[He  goes  out. 
JAMES  CAESAR.  Hell  to  him! 

[The  whistling  which  has  persisted  all  this 
time  stops  suddenly,  and  HENRY  WITH- 
EROW  is  heard  outside  shouting  ,"  Get  out 
of  my  road,  damn  you! "  and  then 
"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  MAGRATH,  the  half- 
wit, is  heard  crying,  "Ah,  don't  strike 
me,  MR.  WITHEROW." 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (going  to  the  door).  Ah,  dear  save 
us,  he's  couped  "  Clutie  "  John  into  the  hedge ! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  That's  all  he  can  do  —  strike  weak 
lads  like  myself,  and  beat  poor  fellows  that's  away  in  the 
mind  like  "  Clutie  "  John! 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (returning  to  the  kitchen).  Ah,  well, 
he's  not  much  hurt  anyway!  (Her  eyes  are  still  wet  with 
tears,  and  she  wipes  them  as  she  sits  down.) 

[  The  tin  whistle  is  heard  again,  and  continues 
to  be  heard  until  "  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  ap- 
pears at  the  door. 

JAMES  CAESAR  (to  JOHN  FERGUSON).  You  heard  what 
I  said,  John? 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (picking  up  his  Bible  and  preparing 
to  read  it  again).  Ay,  Jimmy,  I  heard  you.  You  have  a 
heart  of  corn!  (He  reads.)  "For  his  anger  endureth 
not  for  a  moment;  in  his  favour  is  life:  weeping  may  en- 
dure for  a  night,  but  joy  cometh  in  the  morning."  ( To  his 
wife,  who  still  weeps  silently.)  What  are  you  crying  for, 
Sarah?  Do  you  not  hear  this  from  God's  Word? 


28  John  Ferguson 

"  Weeping  may  endure  for  a  night,  but  joy  cometh  in  the 
morning."  That's  a  promise,  isn't  it?  Dry  your  eyes, 
woman!  God's  got  everything  planned,  and  He  knows 
what's  best  to  be  done.  Don't  be  affronting  Him  with 
tears!  .  .  . 

JAMES  CAESAR  (touching  him).  John,  did  you  not  hear 
me?  I  was  saying  I'd  pay  the  mortgage  if  Hannah  would 
only  listen  to  me  ... 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  Jimmy,  I  heard  you  right  enough, 
and  I'm  thankful  to  you.  It's  kind  and  neighbourly  of 
you,  but  Hannah  has  to  decide  them  things  for  herself 
with  the  help  of  God,  not  with  mine.  There's  no  good  in 
a  man  and  a  woman  marrying  if  they  have  no  kindly  feel- 
ing for  each  other.  I  would  rather  Henry  Witherow  fore- 
closed nor  let  Hannah  do  anything  she  didn't  want  to  do. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Da!     (She  kneels  beside  him.) 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (drawing  her  close  to  him).  Ay, 
daughter  ? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (struggling  to  speak).  Da,  I  ... 
I  ... 

JAMES  CAESAR  (eagerly).  I  wouldn't  make  a  hard  bar- 
gain with  you,  John!  Do  you  hear  me,  Hannah?  Your 
da  and  ma  could  live  on  in  the  place  where  he  was 
born  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  God  '11  reward  you,  Jimmy ! 

[HANNAH  FERGUSON  gets  up  from  her  place 
by  her  father's  side.  She  looks  at  the 
old  man  for  a  few  moments.  He  takes 
her  hand  in  his  and  presses  it  warmly, 
and  then  smiles  at  her. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Whatever  you  think  best  '11  be  right, 
Hannah! 


John  Ferguson  29 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  da.     (To  JAMES  CAESAR.) 
I  thank  you  for  your  offer,  Jimmy!     I'll  .  .  .  I'll  have 


you 


JOHN  FERGUSON  (hoarsely).  Hannah? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I'll  have  him,  da! 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (embracing  her).  Oh,  thank  God, 
Hannah,  thank  God! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (uncertainly).  I  can't  tell  you  all  I 
feel,  Hannah,  but  I'll  be  a  good  man  to  you. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  May  God  bless  the  two  of  you! 

[The  sound  of  the  tin  whistle  grows  louder. 
"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN  MAGRATH  appears  at 
the  door.  He  is  a  half-wit  and  his  age 
is  about  thirty. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  I  see  you're  all  there ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Och,  away  on  with  you,  "Clutie"! 
We  don't  want  you  here  with  your  whistle ! 

"CLUTIE"  JOHN  (entering  the  kitchen).  Ah,  now, 
Mrs.  Ferguson,  what  harm  does  my  whistle  do  to 
you?  (To  JAMES  CAESAR.)  Good-evening  to  you,  Mr. 
Caesar! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (sharply).  I  have  nothing  for  you! 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  That's  a  quare  pity,  Mr.  Caesar !  I 
was  thinking  to  myself  as  I  was  coming  along,  "  Clutie  " 
John,  if  you  were  to  meet  Mr.  Caesar  now,  he'd  mebbe  give 
you  the  lend  of  a  halfpenny !  " 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Well,  you  were  thinking  wrong  then, 
and  you  can  just  march  on  out  of  this  as  quick  as  you  like. 
There's  no  money  here  for  you. 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  Ah,  well,  the  Lord  will  send  relief, 
though  you  won't  be  the  honoured  instrument.  Sure,  I'll 
just  play  a  tune  to  you  for  the  pleasure  of  the  thing.  (He 


3O  John  Ferguson 

puts  the  whistle  to  his  lips,  and  then  takes  it  away  again.) 
You  didn't  kill  Mr.  Witherow  yet,  Mr.  Caesar? 

JAMES  CAESAR  (furiously).  Go  'long  to  hell  out  of 
this,  will  you?  (He  is  about  to  strike  "  CLUTTE  "  JOHN, 
but  MRS.  FERGUSON  prevents  him  from  doing  so.) 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  don't  hurt  the  poor  soul,  Jimmy! 
Sure,  you  know  rightly  he's  astray  in  the  mind. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Ay,  that's  true,  Mrs.  Ferguson ! 
That's  true  enough.  I'm  away  in  the  head  and  I  ought 
to  be  locked  up  in  the  asylum!  And  I  would  be  if  I  was 
worse  nor  I  am!  It's  a  quare  pity  of  a  man  that's  not 
distracted  enough  to  be  put  in  the  madhouse  and  not  wise 
enough  to  be  let  do  what  the  rest  of  you  do.  It's  a  hard 
thing  now  that  a  man  as  harmless  as  myself  can't  be  let 
play  his  whistle  in  peace. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Why  don't  you  do  some  work? 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Sure,  didn't  I  tell  you  I'm  astray  in 
the  mind! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  It's  a  nice  thing  when  a  big  lump  of  a 
man  like  yourself  goes  tramping  about  the  country  playing 
tunes  on  an  old  whistle  instead  of  turning  your  hand  to 
something  useful.  You  can  work  well  enough  if  you  like. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  (regarding  his  whistle  affectionately). 
I  would  rather  be  whistling.  There's  plenty  can  work, 
but  few  can  whistle. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  What  do  you  want,  "  Clutie  "? 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  I  want  many's  a  thing  that  I'll  never 
get.  Did  you  ever  hear  me  whistling,  "  Willie  Reilly  and 
his  Colleen  Bawn  "  ?  That's  a  grand  tune,  for  all  it's  a 
Catholic  tune! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  We  heard  it  many's  a  time,  and  we 
don't  want  to  hear  it  again.  Quit  out  of  the  place! 


John  Ferguson  31 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Come  here,  "  Clutie  "!  ("  CLUTIE  " 
JOHN  goes  to  him.)  Did  you  want  anything  to  eat? 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  I  always  want  something  to  eat. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Hannah,  give  him  a  sup  of  sweet 
milk  and  a  piece  of  soda  bread.  Poor  lad,  his  belly  is 
empty  many's  a  time. 

[HANNAH  goes  to  get  the  bread  and  milk  for  "  CLUTIE." 

JAMES  CAESAR.  It's  a  nice  thing  for  her  to  be  attending 
on  the  like  of  him. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Why  shouldn't  she  serve  him? 
We're  all  children  of  the  one  Father,  and  we're  serving 
Him  when  we're  serving  each  other. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Will  I  whistle  a  tune  to  you,  Mr. 
Ferguson?  (He  does  not  wait  for  permission,  but  begins 
to  play  "  Willie  Reilly  and  his  Colleen  Bawn.") 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  quit  it,  will  you?  You'll  have 
me  deafened  with  your  noise ! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Do  you  not  like  my  whistle,  Mrs. 
Ferguson?  It's  grand  music.  You  should  see  the  wee 
childher  running  after  me  when  I  play  it.  "  Play  us  a 
tune,  Clutie  John!  "  they  shout  when  I  go  by,  and  sure  I 
just  play  one  to  them.  They're  quare  and  fond  of  my 
whistle.  It's  only  people  with  bitter  minds  that  doesn't 
like  to  hear  it.  (HANNAH  brings  the  bread  and  milk  to 
him,  and  he  puts  down  his  whistle  in  order  to  take  them 
from  her.)  Ah,  God  love  you,  Hannah,  for  your  kind 
heart! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Did  Henry  Witherow  hurt  you, 
"  Clutie,"  when  he  couped  you  in  the  hedge? 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  He  did,  in  sang!  He  couped  me 
head  over  heels,  and  me  doing  nothing  at  all  to  him. 
That's  a  bitter  man,  Hannah,  that  would  take  the  bite  out 


32  John  Ferguson 

of  your  mouth  if  it  would  bring  a  happorth  of  profit  to 
him.  He  never  was  known  to  give  anything  to  anybody, 
that  man!  It's  a  poor  and  hungry  house  he  has.  I  was 
there  one  day  when  he  was  at  his  dinner,  and  he  never  as 
much  as  asked  me  had  I  a  mouth  on  me  at  all. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Ay,  you're  right  there!  You  are,  in- 
deed !  There's  no  charity  or  loving-kindness  about  him. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Well,  he's  not  the  only  one  in  the 
world  that's  like  that! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  There's  people  says  he  sold  his  soul  to 
the  devil. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Ah,  why  would  the  devil  be  buying 
souls  when  he  can  get  millions  of  them  for  nothing ?  (To 
JOHN  FERGUSON.)  Did  your  brother  Andrew  send  the 
money  to  pay  off  the  mortgage,  Mr.  Ferguson  ? 

JAMES  CAESAR.  What  do  you  know  about  his  brother 
Andrew  ? 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  I  know  many's  a  thing !  I  can  tell 
you  where  a  kingfisher  has  his  nest  this  minute.  I  saw  a 
golden  eagle  once!  It  was  in  the  West  I  saw  it  when  I 
was  whistling  in  Connacht.  It  was  a  great  big  bird  with 
a  beak  on  it  that  would  tear  the  life  out  of  you  if  it  was 
that  way  inclined.  (He  finishes  the  milk.)  This  is  the 
grand  sweet  milk!  And  the  fine  new  bread,  too!  Isn't 
it  grand  now  to  have  plenty  of  that?  Will  you  not  let  me 
play  a  tune  to  you  to  reward  you?  Sure,  I'll  not  ask  you 
to  give  me  the  lend  of  a  halfpenny  for  it,  though  you  can 
if  you  like!  I'll  do  it  just  for  the  pleasure  of  it. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  No,  "  Clutie,"  we  can't  have  you 
playing  your  whistle  here  the  night.  You  must  go  home 
now.  We  have  something  important  to  talk  about. 


John  Ferguson  33 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Go  on,  "  Clutie "  John !  Away 
home  with  you  now!  We've  had  enough  of  your  chat  for 
one  night.  You  can  finish  your  bread  in  the  "  loanie." 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I'm  going  now,  Hannah.     Will  you 
walk  a  piece  of  the  road  with  me?     I've  not  had  you  a 
minute  to  myself  yet  with  all  these  interruptions ! 
HANNAH  FERGUSON  (submissively).  Very  well.  Jimmy! 
"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  (astonished).  Are  you  going  to  marry 
him,  Hannah? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  "  Clutie." 
"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  (incredulously).  Ah,  you're  codding! 
JAMES  CAESAR.  Come  on,  Hannah,  and  not  be  wasting 
your  time  talking  to  him !     (He  goes  to  the  door.)     Here's 
Andrew  coming  across  the  fields.     We'd  better  wait  and 
tell  him. 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  It'll  be  a  great  surprise  for  him. 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  and  great  joy  to  him  when  he 
knows  we'll  not  have  to  quit  the  farm  after  all. 

[ANDREW  FERGUSON  enters.  He  is  a  slight, 
delicate-looking  lad  of  nineteen,  nearer  in 
looks  to  his  father  than  his  mother.  He 
is  very  tired  after  his  work  in  the  fields, 
and  he  carelessly  throws  the  bridle  he  is 
carrying  into  a  corner  of  the  kitchen  as  if 
he  were  too  fatigued  to  put  it  in  its  proper 
place. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Good-evening  to  you,  Jimmy! 
JAMES  CAESAR.  Good  evening,  Andrew!     You're  look- 
ing tired  on  it ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (sitting  down  heavily).  I  am  tired. 
How're  you,  da? 


34  John  Ferguson 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I'm  rightly,  son! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ma,  can  I  have  a  drop  of  sweet 
milk  to  drink?  I'm  nearly  dead  with  the  drouth. 

[MRS.  FERGUSON  goes  to  crock  to  get  the  milk 
for  him. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Andrew,  I've  great  news  for  you.  Me 
and  your  sister's  going  to  be  married  on  it. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (starting  up).  You're  what? 
(His  mother  puts  a  cup  of  milk  into  his  hands.)  Thank 
you,  ma! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Ay,  we're  going  to  be  married,  Andrew. 
Hannah's  just  settled  it. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  And  we'll  not  have  to  quit  out  of  the 
farm  after  all,  Andrew !  Jimmy  says  he'll  pay  the  mort- 
gage off! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (vaguely).  But  I  thought!  .  .  . 
(He  turns  to  HANNAH.) 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (quickly).  It's  kind  of  Jimmy, 
isn't  it,  Andrew? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (after  a  pause).  Ay  ...  it's  kind! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  We  just  stopped  to  tell  the  news  to  you, 
Andrew,  to  hearten  you  up  after  your  day's  work,  and  now 
Hannah  and  me's  going  for  a  bit  of  a  dandher  together. 
We  haven't  had  a  chance  of  a  word  by  ourselves  yet,  and 
you  know  the  way  a  couple  likes  to  be  by  their  lone,  don't 
you?  Are  you  ready,  Hannah? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Ay. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Well,  come  on!  Good-night  to  you 
all! 

OMNES.  Good-night,  Jimmy! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  God  reward  you,  Mr.  Caesar. 

JAMES  CAESAR  (contemptuously).  Och,  you! 


John  Ferguson  35 

[He  goes  out.     HANNAH  follows  him  to  the 
door. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I  won't  be  long  before  I'm  back. 

[Exit. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Da,  is  it  true  about  Hannah  and 
Jimmy  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  son,  it's  true.  You  saw  them  go- 
ing out  together. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  But  .  .  .  did  she  do  it  of  her  own 
free  will  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Would  I  force  her  to  it,  Andrew  ? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  No  .  .  .  only  ...  I  suppose  my 
uncle  Andrew  didn't  write,  then? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  No. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  wonder  what  made  her  .  .  .  It's 
a  quare  set-out,  this ! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Did  you  never  hear  the  story  of  the 
girl  that  killed  herself  over  the  head  of  love?  It's  a  quare 
sad  story. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  wheesht  with  you,  "  Clutie  " ! 
Didn't  I  tell  you  before  to  quit  out  of  this  ? 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  (coaxingly).  Let  me  stay  a  wee 
while  longer  here  by  the  fire,  Mrs.  Ferguson.  I'll  not  be 
disturbing  you. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  close  the  door,  then,  and  don't 

be  talking  so  much!  ("  CLUTTE  "  JOHN  does  as  she  bids 

him. )     Go  up  there  now  by  the  fire,  and  content  yourself. 

["  CLUTIE  "  sits  down  in  a  corner  of  the  fire- 

place.    MRS.  FERGUSON  seats  herself  on 

the  sofa. 

ANDREN  FERGUSON.  I  saw  Witherow  going  down  the 
"  loanie."  I  suppose  he  was  in  here  about  the  mortgage? 


36  John  Ferguson 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  he  was.  He  knows  about  Han- 
nah and  Jimmy. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  There  was  a  row  between  Witherow 
and  Jimmy,  and  they  had  a  bit  of  a  scuffle.  Witherow 
caught  a  holt  of  Jimmy  and  knocked  him  down,  and  then 
Hannah  went  forward  and  struck  Witherow  flat  in  the 
face.  You  could  have  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather 
when  she  did  it. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  That  was  a  queer  thing  for  her  to 
do.  Mebbe  she's  changed  her  mind  about  him.  She 
could  hardly  find  a  word  hard  enough  for  him  one  time. 
I  suppose  it's  all  right.  It's  a  load  off  my  mind  anyway 
to  hear  that  the  farm's  safe,  though  God  knows  I'm  a  poor 
hand  at  working  it. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  You'll  get  into  the  way  of  it  in  a  wee 
while,  son,  and  mebbe  I'll  be  able  to  give  you  more  help 
now  my  mind's  at  ease.  It's  hard  on  you  that  was  reared 
for  the  ministry  to  have  to  turn  your  hand  to  farming  and 
you  not  used  to  it! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  daresay  it'll  do  me  some  sort  of 
good. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Listen !  The  girl  I  was  telling  you 
about,  the  one  that  killed  herself,  it  was  because  her  boy 
fell  out  with  her.  That  was  the  cause  of  it!  She  cried 
her  eyes  out  to  him,  but  it  made  no  differs,  and  so  she 
threw  herself  off  a  hill  and  was  killed  dead. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Wheesht,  "  Clutie  " ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Dear  only  knows  where  you  get  all 
them  stories  from  that  you're  always  telling,  "  Clutie  " ! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  I  hear  them  in  my  travels. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Do  you  never  hear  no  comic  ones  ? 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Ah,  I  can't  mind  the  comic  ones.     I 


John  Ferguson  37 

just  mind  the  sad  ones.  Them's  the  easiest  to  mind. 
They  say  the  man  was  sorry  afterwards  when  he  heard  tell 
she'd  killed  herself,  but  sure  it  was  no  use  being  sorry 
then.  He  should  have  been  sorry  before.  It  was  a  great 
lep  she  took. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  What's  Jimmy  going  to  do  about 
the  mortgage  ?  Is  he  going  to  take  it  on  himself  or  what  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  suppose  so.  We  haven't  settled 
anything.  He  said  I  could  stay  on  here,  your  ma  and  me, 
with  you  to  manage  the  farm. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  It's  brave  and  kind  of  him  to  do  the 
like. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  don't  see  where  the  kindness 
comes  in  if  he  gets  Hannah  to  marry  him  over  it!  I  hope 
to  God  she's  not  doing  it  just  to  save  the  farm. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  It  was  her  own  choice,  Andrew,  son. 
I  said  to  her  I  would  rather  go  into  the  Poorhouse  nor 
have  her  do  anything  against  her  will.  I'm  not  saying 
I'm  not  glad  she's  consented  to  have  Jimmy,  for  that 
would  be  a  lie.  I  am  glad  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Because  the  farm's  safe,  da  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  Andrew !  ( They  are  silent  for  a 
few  moments.)  What  are  you  thinking,  son?  Are  you 
thinking  I'm  letting  her  marry  Jimmy  against  her  will 
just  to  save  the  farm?  Is  that  what  you're  thinking? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (evasively).  I  don't  know  what 
to  think,  da. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  left  her  to  her  own  choice.  Didn't 
I,  Sarah? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  John,  you  did,  and  sure  what 
does  it  matter  anyway?  She's  a  young  slip  of  a  girl  with 
wayward  fancies  in  her  head,  mebbe,  but  Jimmy's  as  good 


38  John  Ferguson 

and  substantial  a  man  as  she's  like  to  get,  and  he'll  be  a 
good  husband  to  her.  It's  a  great  thing  for  a  girl  to  get  a 
comfortable  home  to  go  to  when  she  leaves  the  one  she  was 
reared  in.  There's  plenty  of  young  women  does  be  run- 
ning after  this  and  running  after  that,  but  sure  there's 
nothing  in  the  end  to  beat  a  kind  man  and  a  good  home 
where  the  money  is  easy  and  regular. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  It's  easy  to  be  saying  that,  ma, 
when  you're  past  your  desires. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  I  got  my  desire,  Andrew,  when  I  got 
your  da.  I  never  desired  no  one  else  but  him. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Would  you  like  to  have  married 
Jimmy  Caesar  if  he'd  been  your  match  when  you  were 
Hannah's  age? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  There  was  never  no  question  of  me 
marrying  any  one  but  your  da  ... 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  But  if  there  had  —  if  your  da's 
farm  had  been  mortgaged  like  this  one?  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  what's  the  good  of  if -ing  and 
supposing?  There's  a  deal  too  much  of  that  goes  on  in 
this  house.  And,  anyway,  we  can't  let  your  da  be  turned 
out  of  his  home. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Then  that  is  the  reason!  Han- 
nah's marrying  Jimmy  Caesar  for  our  sakes,  not  for  her 
own! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  No,  no,  Andrew,  son,  that's  not  it.  I 
tell  you  she  took  him  of  her  own  free  will.  I  wouldn't 
put  no  compulsion  on  her  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  No,  da,  I  know  you  wouldn't;  but 
are  you  sure  you're  not  ready  to  believe  she's  taking  him  of 
her  own  free  will  just  because  she  says  she  is? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Sure,  what  else  can  he  do? 


John  Ferguson  39 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  God  knows,  Andrew,  it'll  hurt  me 
sore  to  leave  this  house,  but  I'd  go  gladly  out  of  it  sooner 
nor  cause  Hannah  a  moment's  unhappiness.  I'm  trying 
hard  to  do  what's  right.  I  don't  think  I'm  acting 
hypocritically,  and  I'm  not  deceiving  myself  .  .  . 

[The  door  opens  suddenly,  and  HANNAH 
enters  in  a  state  of  agitation.  She  closes 
the  door  behind  her,  and  then  stands  w-ith 
her  face  to  it.  She  begins  to  sob  without 
restraint. 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (rising  from  his  chair).  What  is  it, 
daughter  ? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (going  to  her).  Hannah! 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  Don't  bother  her!  (Going  to  her 
and  drawing  her  into  her  arms.)  There,  Hannah,  dear, 
don't  disturb  yourself,  daughter.  ( To  the  others. )  She's 
overwrought  with  the  excitement.  That's  what  it  is! 
(To  HANNAH.)  Come  and  sit  down,  dear ! 

[She  draws  HANNAH  towards  the  sofa,  where 
they  both  sit  down.  HANNAH  buries  her 
face  in  her  mother's  shoulder  and  sobs 
bitterly. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Control  yourself,  daughter!     You're 
all  right  now!     No  one'll  harm  you  here! 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  Are  you  not  well,  Hannah? 
ANDREW  FERGUSON  (coming  close  to  his  mother  and 
sister).     Hannah,   do  you  not   want  to  marry   Jimmy 
Caesar? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  wheesht  with  you,  Andrew,  and 
not  be  putting  notions  into  her  head!  It's  just  over- 
wrought she  is.  You  know  well  she's  been  as  anxious 
about  the  farm  as  any  of  us,  and  about  your  da,  too,  and 


4O  John  Ferguson 

she  bore  the  bother  well,  but  now  that  it's  all  settled,  she's 
had  to  give  way.  Sure,  that's  natural !  There,  daughter, 
dear,  just  cry  away  till  you're  better.  (She  soothes 
HANNAH  as  she  speaks  to  her.) 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (kicking  the  rug  from  his  legs  and 
going  unsteadily  to  his  wife  and  daughter).  Hannah! 
(HANNAH,  still  sobbing,  does  not  reply.)  Hannah, 
daughter,  do  you  hear  me? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (without  raising  her  head).  Ay, 
da! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Listen  to  me  a  while!  (He  tries  to 
raise  her  face  to  his.)  Look  up  at  me,  daughter!  (She 
turns  towards  him.)  Don't  cry,  Hannah!  I  can't  bear 
to  see  you  crying,  dear!  (He  makes  her  stand  up,  and 
then  he  clasps  her  to  him.)  Listen  to  me,  Hannah !  I've 
never  deceived  you  nor  been  unjust  to  you,  have  I, 
daughter  ? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  No,  da. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  And  you  know  I'd  beg  my  bread  from 
door  to  door  sooner  nor  hurt  you,  don't  you?  Isn't  that 
true? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  da,  it  is. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Well,  don't  be  afeard  to  say  what's  in 
your  mind,  then !  What  is  it  that's  upsetting  you  ? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (putting  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
and  drawing  herself  closer  to  him.)  Oh,  da,  I  can't 
.  .  .  I  can't!  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  You  can't  what? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Do  you  not  want  to  marry  Jimmy? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (sobbing  anew).  I  can't  thole  him, 
da!  ... 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Very  well,  daughter!    That'll  be  all 


John  Ferguson  41 

right!  Don't  annoy  yourself  no  more  about  him,  dear. 
It'll  be  all  right. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I  tried  hard  to  want  him,  da,  but 
I  couldn't,  and  when  he  bid  me  good-night  and  tried  to 
kiss  me  out  in  the  "  loanie,"  I  near  died !  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  know,  daughter. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (starting  up  in  fear  and  anger).  But 
you  promised  him,  Hannah !  John,  you're  never  going  to 
let  her  break  her  word  to  the  man  ?  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Wheesht,  woman! 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (to  her  son).  Andrew!  .  .  .  (She 
sees  that  ANDREW'S  sympathies  are  with  HANNAH.) 
Hannah,  think  shame  of  yourself! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I  can't  take  him,  ma,  I  can't! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Do  you  want  to  see  your  da  turned 
out  of  the  home  he  was  born  in,  and  him  old  and  sick  and 
not  able  to  help  himself? 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (angrily).  Quit  it,  woman,  when  I 
tell  you ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  What's  wrong  with  the  man  that  she 
won't  take  him?  There  isn't  a  decenter,  quieter  fellow 
in  the  place,  and  him  never  took  drink  nor  played  devil's 
cards  in  his  life.  There's  plenty  of  girls  would  give  the 
two  eyes  out  of  their  head  to  have  the  chance  of  him. 
Martha  M'Clurg  and  Ann  Close  and  Maggie  M'Conkey, 
the  whole  lot  of  them,  would  jump  with  joy  if  he  was  to 
give  a  word  to  them  (she  turns  on  HANNAH),  and  what 
call  have  you  to  be  setting  yourself  up  when  a  decent, 
quiet  man  offers  for  you,  and  you  knowing  all  that  de- 
pends on  it  ? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ma,  that's  no  way  to  talk  to  her! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  I'll  say  what  I  want  to  say. 


42  John  Ferguson 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  You'll  say  no  more.  If  I  hear 
you  speaking  another  word  to  her  like  that,  I'll  walk  out 
of  the  door  and  never  come  back  again. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (sitting  down  and  weeping  help- 
lessly). Oh,  you're  all  again'  me,  your  da  and  Hannah 
and  you!  I'll  have  to  quit  the  house  I  was  brought  to 
when  I  was  a  young  girl,  and  mebbe  live  in  a  wee  house 
in  the  town  or  go  into  the  Union ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (putting  HANNAH  into  his  chair). 
Sit  down,  daughter,  and  quieten  yourself.  ( To  his  wife. ) 
If  we  have  to  go  into  the  Poorhouse,  Sarah,  we'll  have  to 
go.  (To  his  son.)  Put  on  your  top-coat,  Andrew,  and 
go  up  to  Witherow's  and  tell  him  he  can  take  the  farm  .  .  . 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (recovering  herself  slightly).  No, 
da,  no.  I'm  all  right  again.  I'll  marry  Jimmy!  I'm 
ashamed  of  the  way  I  went  on  just  now.  My  ma  was 
right.  It  was  just  the  upset  that  made  me  like  it. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  daughter,  that  was  it. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Wheesht,  Sarah.     Go  on,  Andrew. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  All  right,  da. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (angrily).  Let  her  go  herself  and 
finish  her  work!  The  lad's  wore  out  with  tiredness  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I'm  not  that  tired,  ma. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (firmly).  I'll  go,  Andrew.  It'll 
quieten  me  down  to  have  the  walk.  (To  her  father.) 
Jimmy  doesn't  know  yet,  da.  I  didn't  tell  him,  and  he's 
coming  up  here  the  night  after  he  shuts  his  shop.  Mebbe 
you'll  tell  him  before  I  come  back?  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  All  right,  daughter,  I  will.  (To 
ANDREW.)  Hannah'll  go,  Andrew.  She  doesn't  want  to 
be  here  when  Jimmy  comes.  (To  HANNAH.)  Put  a 


John  Ferguson  43 

shawl  over  your  head,  daughter,  and  wrap  yourself  well 
from  the  night-air. 
HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  da ! 

[She  goes  upstairs  to  make  herself  ready  to 
go  out.  "  CLUTTE  "  JOHN  makes  a  faint 
sound  on  his  whistle. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ah,  are  you  still  there,  "  Clutie " 
John?     I'd  near  forgot  about  you. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Will  I  play  "  Willie  Reilly  and  his 
Colleen  Bawn  "  to  you? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  No,  boy,  not  the  night.     Just  keep 
quiet  there  in  the  heat  of  the  fire. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  It's  a  brave  warm  fire.     It's  well  to 
be  them  that  has  a  good  fire  whenever  they  want  it. 

[HANNAH,  wearing  a  shawl  over  her  head, 
comes  downstairs  and  goes  across  the 
kitchen  to  the  door. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  You'll  not  be  long,  Hannah  ? 
HANNAH  FERGUSON.  No,  da. 

[She  opens  the  door  and  goes  out,  closing  it 

behind  her. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  wonder  will  Witherow  let  the  farm 
to  some  one  else  or  will  he  till  it  himself  ? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  He'll  mebbe  till  it  himself. 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  I'd  better  be  laying  the  supper  for 
you  all.     Is  "  Clutie  "  John  to  have  his  here  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  let  him  have  a  bite  to  eat.     We'll 

mebbe  not  be  able  to  ...  (He  breaks  off  suddenly  and 

turns  to  his  son.)     Light  the  lamp,  Andrew,  and  draw 

the  blinds.  [He  seats  himself  again  in  his  chair. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Draw  the  blinds,  "  Clutie." 


44  John  Ferguson 

[He  lights  the  lamp  while  "  CLUTIE  "  draws 
the  blinds  and  MRS:  FERGUSON  lays  the 
table  for  supper. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  wonder  what  time  Jimmy '11 
come. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  hope  he'll  come  soon  so  that  he 
won't  be  here  when  Hannah  comes  back. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ay.  Will  I  set  the  lamp  near 
your  elbow,  da  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  son,  and  reach  the  Bible  to  me, 
if  you  please.  (ANDREW  hands  the  Bible  to  him.) 
Thank  you,  son. 


ACT  II 

It  is  more  than  an  hour  later,  and  it  is  quite  dark  outside. 
JOHN  FERGUSON  and  his  wife  and  son  are  sitting  at 
the  table,  eating  their  supper.  "  CLUTDE  "  JOHN 
McGRATH  is  still  seated  in  the  corner  of  the  fireplace. 
He  has  laid  his  whistle  aside  and  is  engaged  in  eating 
the  supper  given  to  him  by  MRS.  FERGUSON. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Hannah's  gey  and  long  in  getting 
back  from  Witherow's. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  I  wonder  did  she  change  her  mind 
about  Jimmy  and  go  to  the  shop  instead  of  going  to 
Witherow's.  It's  quare  him  not  coming  before  this! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ah,  I  don't  think  she'd  do  that. 
Hannah's  not  the  sort  to  change  sudden. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  she  changed  sudden  enough 
the  night ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ah,  that  was  because  she  was  do- 
ing something  she  didn't  want  to  do. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  if  she  hasn't  changed  her 
mind,  and  Jimmy  comes  now,  we'll  have  to  give  him  his 
supper,  and  then  Hannah'll  mebbe  be  here  before  he  goes 
away  again.  It'll  be  quare  and  awkward  for  us  all. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Well,  sure,  you  can  tell  him  when 
he  comes,  and  then  he'll  not  be  wanting  to  stop  to  his 
supper. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Och,  we'd  have  to  offer  the  man 
45 


46  John  Ferguson 

something  to  eat  anyway!  It's  only  neighbourly  to  do 
that  much.  (She  turns  to  "  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.)  Will  you 
have  some  more  tea,  "  Clutie  "? 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  Ay,  if  you  please,  Mrs.  Ferguson. 
It's  quare  nice  tea.  I  don't  often  get  the  like  of  that  any 
place  I  go. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  It's  a  quare  thing  to  me  the  way 
Jimmy  runs  after  Hannah,  and  her  showing  him  plain 
enough  that  she  never  had  any  regard  for  him. 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  'Deed,  Andrew,  there's  many  a 
thing  in  the  world  is  quarer  nor  that.  It's  a  quare  thing 
now  for  a  man  to  be  blowing  wind  into  a  bit  of  a  pipe 
and  it  to  be  making  up  tunes  for  him.  That's  quare  if 
you  like ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  you're  daft  about  that  old  whistle 
of  yours!  (She  hands  a  cup  of  tea  to  him.)  Here,  drink 
up  that,  and  don't  talk  so  much!  I  suppose  I'll  have  to 
let  you  sleep  in  the  loft  the  night  ? 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  Sure,  that'll  be  a  grand  bed  for  me, 
lying  on  the  hay. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  I  do  believe  you're  not  such  a  fool 
as  you  make  out,  "  Clutie  " !  You've  the  fine  knack  of 
getting  into  people's  houses  and  making  them  give  you 
your  meals  and  a  bed  without  them  meaning  to  do  it ! 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  I  don't  try  to  make  them  do  it,  Mrs. 
FERGUSON.  I  just  come  in  the  house  and  sit  down. 
That's  all  I  do. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  that's  all  you  do.  If  you  did 
any  more,  they'd  mebbe  have  to  keep  you  for  the  rest  of 
your  life!  Once  you're  settled  down,  it's  hard  to  per- 
suade you  to  get  up  again. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  You're  letting  on  you're  vexed  with 


John  Ferguson  47 

me,  Mrs.  Ferguson,  but  sure  I  know  rightly  you're  not. 
A  woman  that  has  as  kind  a  heart  as  you  have  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  wheesht  with  your  talk !  Will  I 
cut  another  piece  for  you? 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  Ay,  if  you  please! 

[She  cuts  a  piece  of  bread  and  gives  it  to  him. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  wonder,  da,  would  you  be  will- 
ing to  go  up  to  Belfast  to  live?  I  think  I  could  mebbe 
get  a  place  in  a  linen  office  there,  and  I  daresay  Hannah 
might  get  work  in  a  wareroom  or  a  shop.  Between  the 
two  of  us,  we  could  keep  my  ma  and  you  rightly. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I'd  be  as  willing  to  go  there  as  any- 
where, son,  if  I  have  to  quit  out  of  this. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  When  I  was  thinking  of  going 
into  the  ministry,  I  got  acquainted  with  a  young  fellow 
named  M'Kinstry  that  was  very  well  connected.  His  da 
kept  a  linen  mill  in  Belfast,  and  I  daresay  he'd  be  willing 
to  put  a  word  in  for  me  if  I  was  to  ask  him. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  think  I'll  go  up  to  Belfast  on 
Saturday  and  see  young  M'Kinstry.  I'll  write  a  letter  to 
him  the  night  to  tell  him  I'm  coming,  and  I'll  just  let  him 
know  the  position  of  things  so  that  he  can  tell  his  da 
about  me. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (to  ANDREW).  Will  I  pour  you  out 
a  wee  drop  more  tea,  son  ? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Thank  you,  ma! 

[She  takes  his  cup  and  fills  it,  and  then  passes 
it  back  to  him. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Who  knows  but  my  health  will  be 
better  in  Belfast  nor  it  has  been  here?  I'm  not  sure, 
when  I  think  of  it,  but  the  mists  that  lie  on  the  hills  at 


48  John  Ferguson 

night  are  bad  for  me.     They  say  there's  a  fine  air  in 
Belfast  blowing  up  the  Lough  from  the  sea. 

[There  is  a  knock  at  the  door. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  There's  some  one  at  the  door  now. 
It'll  either  be  Hannah  or  Jimmy.  "  Clutie  "  John,  away 
and  open  it,  will  you? 

["  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  goes  to  the  door  and  opens 
it.  JAMES  CAESAR  steps  in.  The  as- 
sured manner  which  he  assumed  when 
HANNAH  accepted  him  has  become  more 
pronounced. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I'm  later  nor  I  expected  to  be.  (He 
turns  to  "  CLUTIE.")  Here,  "  Clutie,"  help  me  off  with 
my  coat,  will  you?  ("  CLUTTE  "  JOHN  helps  him  to  take 
off  his  overcoat.)  It's  turned  a  bit  cold  the  night!  (To 
"  CLUTTE.")  Hang  it  up  there  on  the  rack,  "  Clutie." 
("  CLUTIE  "  does  as  he  is  bid,  and  then  goes  to  his  seat  by 
the  fire.)  I  thought  it  would  be  as  well  to  wear  my  top- 
coat, for  you  get  quare  and  damp  coming  up  the  loanie  in 
the  mist !  (He  goes  to  the  fire  and  rubs  his  hands  in  the 
warmth.)  Where's  Hannah? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  She's  out,  Jimmy! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Out,  is  she?  It's  very  late  for  her  to 
be  out!  She'll  have  to  keep  better  hours  nor  this  when 
she's  married,  eh?  (His  attempt  to  be  jovial  falls  heavy.) 
Has  she  not  had  her  supper  yet  ? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  No,  not  yet.  We're  expecting  her  in 
every  while. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I  hope  she'll  not  be  long.  I  want  to 
discuss  the  wedding  with  her  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  The  wedding! 


John  Ferguson  49 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Ay.  Sure,  there's  no  sense  in  our 
waiting  long,  is  there?  If  people's  able  to  get  married, 
they  ought  to  get  the  ceremony  over  quick.  That's  what  I 
think,  Mrs.  Ferguson.  Och,  listen  to  me  calling  you  Mrs. 
Ferguson,  just  like  a  stranger!  I  ought  to  start  calling 
you  "  Ma  "  to  get  into  the  way  of  it,  or  would  you  rather 
I  called  you  "Mother"? 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (nervously).  I'm  not  particular, 
Jimmy. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Some  people's  quare  and  particular 
about  a  thing  like  that.  They  think  it's  common  to  say 
"  ma  "  and  "  da,"  and  they  never  let  their  children  call 
them  anything  but  "  father  "  and  "  mother."  I  knew  a 
family  once  up  in  Belfast  that  always  called  their  parents 
"  papa  "  and  "  mamma."  It  was  quare  and  conceited  of 
them  —  just  as  if  they  were  English  or  anything  like  that. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Jimmy,  I  want  to  say  something  to 
you! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Ay,  John!  (Jovially.)  I  can't  start 
calling  you  "  da  "  or  "  papa  "  or  anything  else  but  John, 
can  I?  (To  MRS.  FERGUSON.)  Do  you  know,  I'm  near 
dead  of  the  drouth!  If  you  could  spare  me  a  wee  drop 
of  tea!  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (rising  and  speaking  hurriedly). 
Of  course,  Jimmy,  I  will.  I  don't  know  what  I'm  think- 
ing about  not  to  ask  you  to  sit  down  to  your  supper.  (She 
goes  to  the  dresser  for  a  cup  and  saucer.)  Draw  a  chair 
up  to  the  table,  will  you,  and  sit  down ! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Ah,  now,  I  don't  want  to  be  putting 
you  to  any  inconvenience. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Sure,  it's  no  bother  at  all.     Just 


50  John  Ferguson 

come  and  content  yourself.  I'm  all  throughother  with  the 
ups  and  downs  we've  had  this  day,  and  my  manners  is  all 
shattered  over  the  head  of  it.  Sit  down  here. 

JAMES  CAESAR  (taking  his  place  at  the  table).  Thank 
you,  ma. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Will  you  have  soda-bread  or 
wheaten  ? 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Wheaten,  if  you  please! 

[ANDREW  FERGUSON  rises  from  the  table  and 
goes  to  the  side  of  the  fire  opposite  to  that 
on  which  "  CLUTTE  "  JOHN  is  seated. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Help  yourself  to  anything  you  want. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Thank  you!  (He  bows  his  head.) 
Thank  God  for  this  meal,  Amen!  (To  JOHN  FERGU- 
SON.) I've  been  making  plans  in  my  head,  John,  about 
the  future  of  the  farm. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Jimmy,  I  want  to  say  something  to 
you!  .  .  . 

JAMES  CAESAR  (slightly  impatient).  Ay,  but  wait  till 
I  tell  you  about  my  plans!  Now,  how  would  it  be  if  you 
were  to  let  the  land  by  itself,  and  you  and  the  rest  of  you 
stay  on  in  the  house?  Me  and  Hannah '11  be  getting 
married  in  a  wee  while,  and  there'll  only  be  the  three  of 
you  left  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Jimmy!  .  .  . 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Now,  let  me  get  it  all  out  before  I  for- 
get any  of  it.  Andrew  could  mebbe  resume  his  studies 
for  the  ministry.  I  might  be  able  to  advance  him  the 
money  for  it. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  That's  a  kindly  thought,  Jimmy! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Ah,  I've  often  thought  I  would  like  to 
be  related  to  a  minister.  It  looks  well  to  be  able  to  say 


John  Ferguson  51 

the  Reverend  Mr.  So-and-So  is  your  brother-in-law,  par- 
ticular if  he's  a  well-known  man  such  as  you  might  be 
yourself,  Andrew.  Or  I  was  thinking  if  you  didn't  fancy 
the  ministry  any  more,  mebbe  you'd  come  into  the  shop 
and  learn  the  grocery!  The  fact  is,  betwixt  ourselves, 
I'm  thinking  seriously  of  opening  a  branch  establishment 
over  at  Ballymaclurg,  and  if  I  had  you  trained  under 
me,  Andrew,  you'd  do  rightly  as  the  manager  of  it. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Jimmy,  I'll  never  be  able  to  thank 
you  sufficient  for  your  kindness  .  .  . 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Ah,  don't  mention  it!  Sure,  it's  a 
pleasure,  and  anyway  it's  in  the  family,  you  might  say !  I 
wonder  what's  keeping  Hannah!  Where  is  she  at  all? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Jimmy  .  .  .  Hannah's  changed  her 
mind! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Changed  her  mind!  What  do  you 
mean? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  She's  changed  her  mind,  Jimmy! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (getting  up  and  going  to  him:  the  as- 
sured manner  has  dropped  from  him).  Do  you  mean  she 
doesn't  want  to  marry  me  no  more  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  that's  what  I  mean. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  But !  .  .  .  Ah,  quit  your  codding,  for 
dear  sake!  (He  goes  back  to  his  seat  and  begins  to  eat 
again.)  You've  been  letting  "  Clutie  "  John  put  you  up 
to  this  —  trying  to  scare  me.  I  wouldn't  wonder  but 
Hannah's  upstairs  all  the  while,  splitting  her  sides  .  .  . 
(He  gets  up  and  goes  to  the  foot  of  the  staircase  and  calls 
up  it.)  Hi,  Hannah,  are  you  there? 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  I  never  put  them  up  to  anything, 
Mr.  Caesar.  It's  not  my  nature  to  do  a  thing  like 
that. 


52  John  Ferguson 

JAMES  CAESAR  (calling  up  the  stairs).  Come  on  down 
out  of  that,  Hannah,  and  not  be  tormenting  me! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  She's  not  there,  Jimmy. 

JAMES  CAESAR  (coming  back  to  the  table).  Are  you  in 
earnest,  John? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  am,  Jimmy.  I'm  quare  and  sorry 
for  you  .  .  . 

JAMES  CAESAR.  But  she  gave  her  promise  to  me  an 
hour  ago!  You  heard  her  yourself! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  know,  but  she's  changed  her  mind 
since. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  What's  come  over  her? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  can't  tell  you,  Jimmy.  She  just 
didn't  feel  that  she  could  go  on  with  the  match.  It's  a 
thing  that  you  can't  explain,  Jimmy. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  But  .  .  .  the  farm  .  .  .  and  the  mort- 
gage! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  When  I  saw  the  way  her  mind  was 
set,  I  told  her  to  go  up  to  Witherow's  and  tell  him  to 
foreclose ! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  But,  man  alive !  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  That's  the  way  of  it,  Jimmy.  I'm 
heartsore  about  it,  but  it  can't  be  helped,  can  it? 

JAMES  CAESAR  (angrily).  Do  you  mean  to  sit  there  and 
tell  me  you're  going  to  let  her  treat  me  like  dirt  beneath 
her  feet  after  the  way  I've  offered  to  help  you? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  can't  force  her  to  do  things  against 
her  will,  Jimmy.  No  good  would  come  of  the  like  of 
that  either  to  her  or  to  you. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I  suppose  you  never  thought  of  my 
position,  John  Ferguson?  I've  told  all  my  neighbours 


John  Ferguson  53 

already  that  Hannah  and  me  are  to  be  married,  and  now 
I'll  have  to  tell  them  that  she  won't  have  me! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  My  da  can't  help  it,  can  he,  if 
Hannah  doesn't  want  to  marry  you? 

JAMES  CAESAR.  What'll  Witherow  say  when  he  hears 
about  it?  My  God,  he'll  be  the  first  to  know!  (He  be- 
comes wild  with  rage  as  this  idea  expands  in  his  mind.) 
Had  you  no  consideration  at  all,  the  whole  pack  of  you? 
I  was  willing  to  cripple  myself  to  get  you  out  of  your 
difficulty,  and  then  you  turn  on  me  and  affront  me  before 
the  man  I  hate  most  in  the  world!  That's  kindness  for 
you!  That's  the  reward  a  man  gets  for  being  neigh- 
bourly ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  you  may  well  complain,  Jimmy! 
I'm  not  denying  your  right  to  do  so.  I'd  have  spared  you 
from  this  if  I  could. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Can't  you  make  her  keep  her  promise 
to  me?  A  man  has  the  right  to  be  respected  by  his  own 
child,  and  if  she  doesn't  obey  you  and  do  what  you  tell 
her,  you  should  make  her. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Would  you  marry  a  woman  that 
doesn't  want  you  ? 

JAMES  CAESAR  (fiercely).  I  want  her,  don't  I?  What 
does  it  matter  to  me  whether  she  wants  me  or  not  so  long 
as  I'm  married  to  her?  My  heart's  hungry  for  her! 
(His  ferocity  passes  into  complaint.)  Don't  I  know 
rightly  she  doesn't  want  me?  But  what  does  that  matter 
to  me?  I've  loved  her  since  she  was  a  wee  child,  and  I'd 
be  happy  with  her  if  she  was  never  to  give  me  a  kind  look. 
Many  and  many  a  time,  when  the  shop  was  closed,  I  went 
and  sat  out  there  in  the  fields  and  imagined  her  and  me 


54  John  Ferguson 

married  together  and  living  happy,  us  with  two  or  three 
wee  children,  and  them  growing  up  fine  and  strong.  I 
could  see  her  them  times  walking  about  in  a  fine  silk 
dress,  and  looking  grand  on  it,  and  all  the  neighbours 
nudging  each  other  and  saying  the  fine  woman  she  was 
and  the  well  we  must  be  getting  on  in  the  world  for  her  to 
be  able  to  dress  herself  that  nice !  I  could  hardly  bear  it 
when  I  used  to  meet  her  afterwards,  and  she  hadn't 
hardly  a  civil  word  for  me;  but  I  couldn't  keep  out  of 
her  way  for  all  that;  and  many's  a  time  I  run  quick  and 
dodged  round  comers  so's  I  should  meet  her  again  and 
have  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  her.  When  she  said  she'd 
have  me,  I  could  feel  big  lumps  rolling  off  me,  and  I  was 
light-hearted  and  happy  for  all  I  knew  she  was  only  con- 
senting to  have  me  to  save  your  farm,  John.  I  had  my 
heart's  desire,  and  I  never  felt  so  like  a  man  before!  .  .  . 
And  now !  .  .  . 

[He  rests  his  head  on  the  table  and  begins 
to  sob. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (in  anguish).  I  can't  bear  to  see  a 
man  crying!  (She  goes  to  JIMMY.)  Quit,  Jimmy,  son! 
It'll  mebbe  be  all  right  in  the  end.  Don't  disturb  yourself 
so  much,  man ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (contemptuously).  There's  no 
sense  in  going  on  that  way ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Don't  speak  to  him,  Andrew !  Leave 
the  man  to  his  grief ! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (looking  up,  and  addressing  ANDREW). 
I  know  rightly  I'm  making  a  poor  show  of  myself,  but  I 
can't  help  it.  Wouldn't  anybody  that's  had  the  life  that 
I've  had  do  the  same  as  me?  You're  right  and  fine, 
Andrew,  and  full  of  your  talk,  but  wait  till  you've  had  to 


John  Ferguson  55 

bear  what  I  have,  and  you'll  see  then  what  you'll  do  when 
something  good  that  you've  longed  for  all  your  life  comes 
to  you  and  then  is  taken  from  you.  (He  rises  from  the 
table,  trying  to  recover  himself  and  speak  in  an  ordinary 
voice.)  I'm  sorry  I  bothered  you  all!  I'll  not  trouble 
you  with  my  company  any  longer.  It'll  be  better  for  me 
to  be  going  nor  to  be  here  when  she  comes  back.  (He 
moves  towards  the  door.)  I  said  some  harsh  words  to 
you,  John!  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I'm  not  minding  them,  Jimmy.  I 
know  well  the  state  you're  in. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I'm  sorry  I  said  them  to  you,  all  the 
same.  It  was  in  anger  I  said  them  .  .  . 

["  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  starts  up  from  his  seat  in 
the  corner,  and  holds  up  his  hand  for 
silence. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Wheeshtl 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  What  is  it,  "  Clutie  "? 
"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Wheesht,  wheesht! 

[He  goes  to  the  door  and  opens,  while  the 
others  stand  staring  at  him.  He  listens 
for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  he  darts 
swiftly  into  the  darkness. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  In  the  name  of  God,  what  ails  the 
fellow  ? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (going  to  the  door).  He's  heard 
something. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (drawing  a  blind  and  peering  out). 
Oh,  what  is  it  ? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (looking  out).  I  can't  see  any- 
thing .  .  .  Wait!  (He  pauses  a  moment.)  There's 
some  one  coming  up  the  "  loanie."  I  hear  steps  .  .  . 


56  John  Ferguson 

JAMES  CAESAR  (coming  to  his  side  and  listening).  It's 
some  one  running ! 

ANDREW     FERGUSON.  Ay!  ...  It's     Hannah!     (He 
shouts  to  his  sister.)     What  ails  you,  Hannah? 
JAMES  CAESAR.  I  hope  nothing's  happened  to  her. 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  She  must  have  been  scared  or  some- 
thing. 

[She  goes  to  the  door  and  stands  beside 
CAESAR.  ANDREW  FERGUSON  is  heard 
outside  speaking  inquiries  to  his  sister. 
Then  CAESAR  and  MRS.  FERGUSON  come 
away  from  the  door  into  the  kitchen,  and 
HANNAH,  in  a  state  of  terrible  agitation, 
appears  in  the  doorway.  She  pauses 
wildly  for  a  moment,  glancing  round  the 
room  without  seeing  anything  because  of 
the  sudden  change  from  darkness  to  light. 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  Hannah,  what  ails  you,  dear? 

[HANNAH  goes   quickly  to   her  father  and 

throws  herself  against  his  knees. 
HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Da,  da ! 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  What  is  it,  daughter?     What  is  it? 

[ANDREW  FERGUSON,  followed  by  "  CLUTIE  " 
JOHN,  returns  to  the  kitchen.  He  closes 
the  door. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  What  ails  her?  Has  she  hurt 
herself? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Hannah!  (He  tries  to  lift  her  face 
to  his,  but  she  resists  him.)  Hannah,  what  is  it?  Tell 
me,  daughter! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (brokenly).  Da,  da,  I  can't!  .  .  . 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  You  can't  what,  Hannah? 


John  Ferguson  57 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  It's  .  .  .  it's  fearful,  da! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Has  any  one  harmed  her?  Hannah, 
has  any  one  harmed  you?  (To  JOHN  FERGUSON.)  She 
was  at  Witherow's,  wasn't  she?  (Turning  to  the  others.) 
That's  where  she  was  —  at  Witherow's !  ( To  HANNAH.  ) 
Hannah,  do  you  hear  me,  girl?  Has  any  one  harmed 
you?  Was  it  Witherow? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I  can't  .  .  .  can't  .  .  . 

JAMES  CAESAR.  You  must  tell  us.  (Looking  wildly 
about  him.)  My  God,  I'll  go  mad  if  any  harm's  hap- 
pened to  her ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (taking  hold  of  his  arm  and  lead- 
ing him  away  from  HANNAH).  Quieten  yourself,  Jimmy. 
She'll  tell  us  in  a  minute  when  she's  herself  again. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Hannah,  dear!  Come  closer  to  me, 
daughter!  (He  lifts  her  head  from  his  knees  and  draws 
her  up  so  that  her  face  rests  against  his. )  Just  keep  quiet, 
daughter!  No  one'll  harm  you  here.  Keep  quite  quiet! 
(To  JAMES  CAESAR.)  She  was  always  a  wee  bit  afeard 
of  the  dark,  for  she  has  a  great  imagination,  and  she 
mebbe  thought  she  saw  something  fearful  in  the  night. 
Get  her  a  wee  sup  of  sweet  milk,  one  of  you!  (MRS. 
FERGUSON  goes  to  get  the  milk  for  her.)  It's  mebbe 
nothing  but  fright.  I've  seen  her  as  startled  as  this  once 
before  when  she  was  a  child.  (HANNAH  gives  a  great 
sob,  and  starts  a  little'.)  There,  daughter,  you  needn't  be 
scared!  You're  safe  here  from  any  harm.  (MRS.  FER- 
GUSON brings  a  cup  of  milk  to  him.)  Thank  you,  Sarah! 
Here,  Hannah,  drink  a  wee  sup  of  this!  It'll  do  you 
good! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (clinging  closer  to  him).  No,  da, 
no! 


58  John  Ferguson 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  daughter,  it'll  help  to  steady  you ! 
(He  puts  the  cup  to  her  lips,  and  she  drinks  some  of  the 
milk.)  That's  right!  That's  right!  You'll  have  a  wee 
drop  more,  now!  (She  averts  her  head.)  Ay,  daughter, 
just  have  some  more,  and  then  you'll  mebbe  be  quieter  in 
yourself.  (He  compels  her  to  drink  some  more  of  the 
milk,  and  then  he  puts  the  cup  away.)  That'll  do  you  a 
power  of  good!  (He  draws  her  head  down  to  his  breast.) 
Just  rest  your  head  on  me,  daughter,  and  keep  still ! 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  She  was  crying  bitter  out  there.  She 
was  running  up  the  "  loanie  "  when  I  found  her,  and  she 
let  a  screech  out  of  her  when  I  touched  her  arm,  and  then 
she  run  that  hard  I  couldn't  keep  pace  with  her.  It  must 
have  been  a  fearful  thing  that  scared  her  that  way! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  I  hope  to  my  goodness  it's  no  more 
sorrow  for  us.  We've  had  more  nor  our  share  already. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Wheesht,  wheesht,  woman.    Wheesht ! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  If  Witherow's  harmed  her,  I'll  kill  him. 
I  will,  so  help  me,  God! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Quit,  quit!  (To  HANNAH.)  Are 
you  better  now,  Hannah?  (She  still  sobs  a  little,  but  her 
agitation  has  subsided,  and  she  is  now  able  to  speak  more 
or  less  coherently.)  Just  tell  me,  daughter.  What  hap- 
pened you  ? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Da,  I'm  ashamed!  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ashamed,  daughter! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  She  said  she  was  ashamed!  Oh, 
my  God! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  What  are  you  ashamed  of,  daughter  ? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I  ...  (She  relapses.)  I  can't 
tell  you,  da,  I  can't  tell  you ! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Was  it  Witherow,  Hannah  ? 


John  Ferguson  59 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Don't  bother  her,  Jimmy? 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I  know  it  was  Witherow,  I  know  it  was 
him! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Hannah!     Look  up,  daughter  I 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Yes,  da ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Tell  me  about  it! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (making  an  effort  to  control  her- 
self, now  and  then  she  speaks  brokenly.)  I  went  up  to 
Witherow's  farm,  the  way  you  told  me,  and  there  were  two 
people  waiting  to  talk  to  him. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  He  kept  me  waiting  till  after  he 
had  done  with  them.  I  told  him  we  couldn't  pay  the 
money  and  he  was  to  foreclose,  and  then  he  begun  laugh- 
ing at  me  and  making  a  mock  of  ...  of  Jimmy  .  .  . 

[She  looks  up  and  sees  CAESAR  and  hesitates 
to  finish  her  sentence. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Was  it  me  he  made  a  mock  of?  (To 
JOHN  FERGUSON.)  Ah,  didn't  I  tell  you  what  he  would 
do?  Didn't  I,  now?  (He  turns  to  the  others.)  Didn't 
I,  Mrs.  Ferguson?  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Go  on,  daughter! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  He  said  he  supposed  it  couldn't 
be  helped,  and  I  was  just  coming  away  when  he  said  he 
would  walk  the  length  of  the  "  loanie  "  with  me,  and  I 
waited  for  him.  (Her  voice  grows  feeble.)  We  were 
walking  along,  talking  about  one  thing  and  another  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (nervously).  Ay,  ay! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  And  he  begun  telling  me  what  a 
fine  girl  I  am,  and  wishing  he  could  kiss  me !  .  .  . 

JAMES  CAESAR.  God  starve  him ! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  And  then  he  tried  to  kiss  me,  but 


60  John  Ferguson 

I  wouldn't  let  him.  We  were  going  over  Musgrave's 
meadow  together,  and  all  of  a  sudden  he  put  his  arms 
round  me  and  threw  me  down !  .  .  .  Oh,  da,  da! 

[Her  grief  overcomes  her  again,  and  she  buries 
her  head  against  his  breast  and  is  unable 
to  speak  further. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  What  did  she  say,  John?  What  was  it 
she  said? 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (brokenly).  I  can't  speak,  Jimmy  — 
I  can't  speak.     Hannah,  dear!     [He  tries  to  comfort  her. 
JAMES  CAESAR.  Did  he  wrong  her?    That's  what  I 
want  to  know ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Oh,  will  we  never  have  comfort  in 
the  world!  John,  does  she  mean  that  he  harmed  her  .  .  . 
harmed  her?  (Wildly  to  the  others.)  One  of  you  do 
something !  Andrew !  Jimmy ! ! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I've  swore  many's  a  time  to  have  his 
life  and  never  done  it.  I  was  a  poor,  trembling  creature, 
but  I'll  tremble  no  more!  (He  goes  to  the  door.)  Good- 
night to  you  all ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Where  are  you  going,  Jimmy? 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I'm  going  —  somewhere! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Sit  down,  Jimmy  .  .  . 

JAMES  CAESAR.  It's  no  good  you  talking  to  me,  John ! 

[He  opens  the  door  violently  and  goes  out. 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  Andrew,  go  after  him  and  bring  him 
back.     There's  enough  harm  done  already.     Go  and  stop 
him,  son ! 

[ANDREW  goes  unwittingly  to  the  door.     He 
stands     there     looking     up    the     dark 
"  loanie." 
ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  can't  see  him! 


John  Ferguson  61 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  You  must  be  able  to  see  him.  He 
can't  be  that  far!  Go  after  him,  man,  and  bring  him  back 
here. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  No,  da,  I  won't.  (He  shuts  the 
door  and  returns  to  his  seat. )  The  man  has  a  right  to  be 
left  to  himself. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Andrew!  (He  tries  to  get  up  from 
his  chair,  but  HANNAH'S  weight  prevents  him.)  Here, 
Sarah,  take  Hannah  and  put  her  to  bed.  Get  up, 
daughter! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (dinging  to  him).  Da,  da! 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  daughter,  ay!     God's  scourged 
us  hard,  and  it  isn't  easy  to  bear.     We  must  just  .  .  . 
just  try  and  be  patient.     (Kissing  her.)     Go  to  your  ma, 
dear,  and  let  her  take  care  of  you ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Come  to  your  bed,  Hannah! 

[HANNAH'S  anguish  unbalances  her,  and  she 
becomes  hysterical,  and  stands  clinging  to 
her  father  and  weeping  bitterly. 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (comforting  her).  You  must  control 
yourself,  daughter.  Go  with  your  ma,  now,  like  a  good 
girl.  Take  her,  Sarah ! 

[MRS.  FERGUSON  leads  her  daughter  towards 
the  stairs.  They  go  out. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  hope  Jimmy'll  kill  him. 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (weakly).  Son,  son,  don't  talk  that 
way! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  can't  help  it,  da.  He  ought  to 
be  killed.  He's  not  fit  to  live. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  'Are  you  setting  yourself  up  to  judge 
God's  work?. 


62  John  Ferguson 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  An  eye  for  an  eye,  da,  and  a  tooth 
for  a  tooth ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  That's  not  the  spirit  that  lives  now, 
son!  That's  the  spirit  that  was  destroyed  on  the  Cross. 
If  a  man  does  an  injury  to  you,  and  you  injure  him  back, 
you're  as  bad  as  he  is.  You  have  your  own  work  to  do 
in  the  world,  and  you  must  leave  God  to  do  His;  it's  His 
work  to  judge,  not  ours!  (His  utterance  exhausts  him  a 
little,  and  he  staggers  back  into  his  chair.  His  voice 
changes  to  a  pleading  note.)  Ah,  Andrew,  son,  don't 
never  talk  that  way  again !  I  meant  you  for  the  ministry, 
to  teach  people  how  to  live  for  God!  You  can't  go  into 
the  ministry  now,  son,  but  you  can  teach  people  just  the 
same.  Just  the  same!  I  would  rather  you  were  dead 
nor  hear  you  speak  about  Jimmy  Caesar  the  way  you're 
doing  .  .  .  (He  gets  up  from  his  chair  and  goes  to  his 
son,  taking  him  by  the  shoulder.)  Will  you  not  go  out 
and  look  for  him,  son?  He  has  suffered  enough,  poor 
man,  without  him  damning  his  soul ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  He  can  bear  God's  strokes  as  well 
as  we  can! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Your  heart's  bitter,  son!  I  wish  I 
could  go!  (He  staggers  towards  the  door.)  I  haven't  the 
strength  I  used  to  have  .  .  .  Andrew,  will  you  not  do  as  I 
bid  you? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  No,  da,  I  won't  interfere  between 
them. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  must  go  myself,  then.  I  must  try 
and  find  him  .  .  . 

[MRS.  FERGUSON  comes  down  the  stairs  into 
the  kitchen. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  John! 


John  Ferguson  63 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  woman! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Hannah  wants  you.  She'll  not  be 
quiet  without  you  near  her. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  can't  go  up  to  her  yet,  Sarah.  I'm 
going  out  to  look  for  Jimmy  Caesar.  I  can't  let  him  be 
wandering  about  wild  in  the  night.  If  he  finds  Witherow 
he'll  mebbe  do  him  an  injury.  (He  turns  towards  the 
door  again.)  Andrew  won't  go,  so  I  must.  I  can't  let 
the  man  destroy  himself. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  What  way's  that  to  be  talking  and 
you  the  sick  you  are?  Is  it  your  death  you're  wanting? 
And  no  coat  on  or  nothing.  (To  her  son.)  Andrew, 
think  shame  of  yourself  to  be  letting  your  da  go  out  in  the 
dark  and  damp !  ( To  her  husband. )  You  must  come  to 
Hannah.  She  won't  keep  still  without  you!  (To 
ANDREW.)  You  go  and  look  for  Jimmy,  Andrew.  The 
poor  creature's  near  distracted  mad,  and  dear  knows  in 
that  state  he  might  do  something  fearful. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (sullenly).  I'm  not  going,  ma. 
I've  told  my  da  that  already. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  aren't  you  headstrong?  (To 
her  husband.)  Come  up  to  Hannah  first,  John! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  She  must  wait  till  I  come  back.  It's 
Jimmy  Caesar  that's  in  the  greatest  danger  now.  I'll 
come  to  her  when  I  get  back,  tell  her ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  You'll  rue  this  night,  the  pair  of 
you,  but  you  must  have  your  own  way,  I  suppose ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Give  me  my  coat,  woman!  (MRS. 
FERGUSON  goes  to  get  his  coat  for  him.)  Andrew,  will 
you  not  come  with  me  and  help  me  to  find  him  ? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I'll  not  budge  out  of  the  door,  da. 
I  wouldn't  lift  a  finger  to  stop  him  from  doing  anything 


64  John  Ferguson 

he  wants  to  do.  (MRS.  FERGUSON  returns  to  the  kitchen 
carrying  a  jacket,  a  topcoat,  and  a  muffler.)  It's  no  busi- 
ness of  mine  to  interfere  between  them. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (helping  her  husband  into  his  coat). 
Muffle  yourself  up  well,  John.  It's  cold  the  night. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  Sarah,  thank  you. 

[He  puts  the  muffler  round  his  throat. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  only  hope  Jimmy!!  have  the 
manhood  to  kill  Witherow! 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (in  pain).  Wheesht,  wheesht,  son! 
Wheesht,  adear!  (He  recovers  himself,  and  turns  to  his 
wife.)  Tell  Hannah  where  I'm  gone,  Sarah!  That'll 
mebbe  keep  her  quiet  till  I  get  back!  (He  opens  the 
door.)  I'll  come  as  soon  as  I  can! 

[He  goes  out,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  It'll  kill  him,  this  night's  work! 
Andrew,  how  can  you  stand  there  and  see  your  da  going 
out  in  the  wet  and  dark,  and  you  knowing  well  the  sick 
and  feeble  he  is ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  can't  stop  him  from  going, 
can  I? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  You  could  have  gone  yourself. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (turning  to  hef  and  speaking 
fiercely) .  I  tell  you  I  don't  want  to  stop  Jimmy  from  kill- 
ing Witherow  if  he's  going  to  do  it.  It's  right  that  he 
should  kill  him.  The  man's  bad  from  head  to  foot. 
Everything  about  him  shows  that!  It  isn't  only  the  way 
he's  treated  us,  but  others  too.  You've  told  me  yourself 
many's  a  time,  and  my  da's  told  me  too,  of  the  cuts  and 
insults  Jimmy's  had  to  bear  from  him !  Isn't  this  greater 
nor  the  lot  of  them  put  together?  Hasn't  Jimmy  a  right 
to  turn  on  him  now  if  he  never  had  the  right  before?  I 


John  Ferguson  65 

don't  care  what  my  da  says!     Jimmy  has  the  right  to  turn 
on  him  and  kill  him  if  he  can. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (bewildered  by  the  catastrophe  in 
which  she  is  involved).  I'm  all  moidhered  by  it.  I  don't 
understand  what's  happening.  Your  da  says  it's  the  will 
of  God,  but  I  ...  I  can't  make  it  out  .  .  .  (She  goes 
towards  the  stairs.)  I'll  mebbe  not  come  down  again, 
Andrew.  Good-night,  son! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Good-night,  ma ! 

[MRS.  FERGUSON  goes  upstairs.  ANDREW 
walks  across  the  room  and  opens  the  door. 
He  looks  out  for  a  moment  or  two.  Then 
he  shuts  the  door  and  walks  back  to  the 
fireplace. 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  Your  da's  a  forgiving  man,  Andrew ! 
ANDREW  FERGUSON  (absently).  Eh? 
"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  I  say,  your  da's  a  forgiving  man ! 
ANDREW  FERGUSON  (carelessly).  Oh,  ay.     Ay! 

[He  walks  across  the  room  and  back  again. 
"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  You're  not  a  forgiving  man,  are  you, 
Andrew  ? 

[ANDREW  sits  down  at  the  table,  with  his  face 
to  the  audience.  He  does  not  reply  to 
"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN. 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  You're  not  a  forgiving  man,  are  you, 
Andrew?     (He  gets  up  and  comes  to  the  table.)     You 
wouldn't  forgive  till  seventy  times  seven,  would  you? 
ANDREW  FERGUSON  (impatiently).  Ah,  quit! 
"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Your  da  has  a  quare  good  nature. 
He  always  says  you  should  turn  the  other  cheek  to  the 
man  that  harms  you.     That's  a  great  spirit  to  have,  that, 
isn't  it? 


66  John  Ferguson 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (who  has  not  been  listening).  Eh? 
What's  that  you  say? 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  I  was  talking  about  your  da,  An- 
drew, and  him  having  the  great  fine  spirit  of  forgiveness 
in  hun. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (indifferently).  Oh,  ay!     Ay! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  I  could  never  be  as  forgiving  as  your 
da  if  I  lived  to  be  a  thousand  years  old.  (He  pauses  for  a 
moment,  and  then  says  eagerly.)  Will  I  play  something 
to  you?  (ANDREW  does  not  make  any  movement.)  Are 
you  not  listening  to  me? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (crossly).  Ah,  what  is  it?  What's 
the  matter  with  you  ? 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Will  I  not  play  something  to  you  ? 
It's  a  great  comfort  when  you're  in  trouble  to  hear  a  man 
playing  a  tune  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (sharply).  Quit  blethering! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  (going  back  to  his  seat  at  the  fire).  I 
was  only  wondering  could  I  do  anything  to  please  you, 
Andrew?  But  I'll  keep  still  and  quiet.  I'll  not  disturb 
you  at  all.  [  They  sit  in  silence  for  a  few  moments. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  He's  a  bad  man,  that  man  Witherow! 
That's  what  he  is !  He  has  a  sour  nature  in  him.  When- 
ever he  meets  me  he  makes  a  mock  of  me  and  says,  "  When 
are  they  going  to  put  you  in  the  asylum,  'Clutie'?" 
Sometimes  he  hits  me  with  his  stick  or  a  whip  mebbe. 
He  done  that  the  day  there  foment  your  own  door,  An- 
drew! He  couped  me  into  the  hedge  and  near  broke  my 
whistle  on  me.  That  shows  the  bad-natured  man  he  is  to 
be  hurting  a  poor  fellow  like  myself  that  has  to  beg  his 
bread  from  door  to  door ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Hold  your  tongue,  will  you? 


John  Ferguson  67 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN  (meekly).  All  right,  Andrew!  I 
was  only  saying  what  he  done  to  me,  but,  sure,  it  doesn't 
matter  what  he  does  to  the  like  of  me,  a  poor  senseless 
fellow  that  wanders  the  world  with  a  whistle!  It's  quare 
and  different,  Andrew,  when  he  does  harm  to  a  girl  like 
Hannah  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (turning  to  him  and  speaking 
quickly).  Ay,  it  is  different,  "Clutie"!  You're  right 
there.  My  sister  is  the  finest  girl  in  the  County 
Down  .  .  . 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  (eagerly).  Ay,  she  is,  Andrew.  She 
is  in  sang.  There  isn't  her  equal  in  the  province  of 
Ulster.  There  is  not.  I've  oftentimes  heard  people  talk- 
ing about  her,  and  saying  what  a  fine  match  she'll  make 
for  some  man,  and  one  time  I  tried  to  make  up  a  song 
about  her  to  be  singing  on  the  roads,  but  I  couldn't  do  it 
with  any  satisfaction  to  myself.  I'm  no  hand  at  making 
up  poetry.  She's  a  fine  young  girl  and  a  great  com- 
panion she'll  be  to  any  one. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  It's  only  a  fine  man  that's  fit  for 
her. 

"CLUTTE"  JOHN.  That's  true!  (He  gets  up  and 
comes  to  the  table  and  leans  across  it.)  It  would  never 
have  done  if  she'd  married  Jimmy  Caesar.  The 
mountains  can  never  consort  with  the  hills. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  No!  No!!  I  wasn't  best  pleased 
about  the  match  when  I  heard  of  it. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  He's  not  much  of  a  man,  Jimmy 
Caesar! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  No,  he  isn't,  indeed! 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  He's  a  poor-natured  man,  that's 
what  he  is.  He'd  be  worse  nor  Witherow  if  he  had  the 


68  John  Ferguson 

pluck.     Mebbe  he  is  worse  nor  him,  for  he  has  no  pluck 
at  all.     He's  a  mean  man. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  daresay  you're  right. 

[He  goes  to  the  fire  and  stands  with  his  back 
to  it. 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  Ay,  I  am.  He'd  beat  you  on  the 
ground  that  lad  would,  but  he  would  run  away  from  you  if 
you  were  to  stand  up  to  him.  That's  the  kind  he  is. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ah,  well,  he's  had  a  poor  life  of  it. 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  He'd  have  been  mean-natured  what- 
ever kind  of  a  life  he  had,  Andrew!  I've  seen  men  like 
him  before  in  my  time.  They  think  I'm  a  fool  and  see 
nothing,  but  when  I'm  playing  my  whistle,  Andrew,  I  see 
them  when  they're  not  thinking  I'm  looking  at  them  — 
and  there's  plenty  of  them,  high  up  and  low  down,  that  are 
crawling  when  they're  at  your  feet  and  are  ready  to  crawl 
when  they're  standing  up.  That's  the  way  of  them.  A 
man  like  Jimmy  Caesar  would  be  a  poor  defender  for 
Hannah! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Mebbe  he  would ! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  I'd  be  afeard  to  trust  myself  to  him 
if  I  was  in  need  of  a  person  to  take  care  of  me.  I  would 
so. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ah,  you  can  take  care  of  yourself ! 
Quit  talking  now,  or  if  you  can't  keep  quiet,  go  out  to  the 
hayloft  and  talk  to  yourself. 

[He  goes  half-way  across  the  room  and  then 
returns  to  the  fire.  He  stands  with  his 
face  to  it. 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN  (after  a  pause).  I  wonder  will  Jimmy 
Caesar  kill  Witherow ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  What  makes  you  wonder  that  ? 


John  Ferguson  69 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  I  was  just  wondering!  (He  turns 
towards  the  door.)  I'd  better  be  going  to  my  bed.  It 
was  kind  of  your  ma  to  give  me  leave  to  sleep  in  the  loft. 
It'll  be  nice  and  comfortable  to  stretch  myself  out  on  the 
hay. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ay.     Good-night. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Good-night  to  you,  Andrew.  (He 
looks  back  to  his  seat.)  Ah,  dear  bless  us,  I  was  near 
forgetting  my  whistle!  (He  goes  to  his  seat  and  picks  up 
the  whistle.)  It's  not  a  great  deal  to  look  at,  but  it  can 
play  a  grand  tune!  (He  puts  it  in  his  pocket.)  I 
wouldn't  be  surprised  but  Caesar  doesn't  do  it! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (abstractedly).  Doesn't  do  what? 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Kill  Witherow. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  What  makes  you  think  that? 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  It's  the  way  of  him  to  be  talking  and 
not  doing. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ah,  man,  but  this  is  different. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  You  can't  help  your  nature,  Andrew. 
No  one  can.  Jimmy  Caesar's  always  been  afeard  of 
Henry  Witherow  and  it's  likely  he  always  will  be.  He 
can't  help  it,  God  be  good  to  him ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (thinking  this  over  for  a  second, 
and  then  turning  away  contemptuously).  Ah,  you  don't 
know  what  you're  talking  about ! 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  No.  No,  Andrew,  that's  true!  I 
have  no  sense  in  my  head  at  all.  I've  oftentimes  been 
told  that.  Good-night  again  to  you,  Andrew ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Good-night! 

"CLUTIE"  JOHN  (before  he  reaches  the  door).  Mind 
you,  Jimmy  Caesar'll  mean  to  kill  him!  I  daresay  he 
will.  And  mebbe  he  would  have  killed  him  if  he  had 


yo  John  Ferguson 

been  standing  foment  him  that  minute,  with  his  back 
turned,  but  ...  he  had  to  go  out  and  find  him,  Andrew ! 
It's  a  good  step  from  here  to  Witherow's  farm,  and  he  had 
to  get  a  gun  ...  or  something.  You  have  time  to  think 
when  you're  going  that  length. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ay. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  I  wouldn't  doubt  but  he  went 
home.  I  daresay  he's  lying  huddled  up  in  his  bed  this 
minute,  Andrew,  and  your  poor  old  da  hunting  for  him 
in  the  dark,  and  your  sister  up  there  weeping  her  eyes 
out  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ah,  quit,  man,  quit!  You're  tor- 
menting me  with  your  talk. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  A  fine  girl  like  Hannah  to  be  de- 
pending on  Jimmy  Caesar  for  a  man  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Go  on  with  you,  go  on! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  And  him  mebbe  at  home  all  the  time, 
snuggled  up  in  his  bed! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  What  do  you  mean,  "  Clutie  "  ? 
What  are  you  trying  to  prove? 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  Prove!  Me?  Sure,  I  couldn't 
prove  anything  if  I  was  paid  to  do  it.  I'm  no  hand  at 
proving  things.  That's  why  I  haven't  got  any  sense. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (going  to  him  and  taking  hold  of 
his  shoulder).  What's  all  this  talk  about  Jimmy  Caesar 
mean  ?  You  have  some  meaning  in  your  mind ! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  I  wish  I  had,  but  sure  I'll  never  be 
right,  never.  I'll  always  be  quare. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (turning  away  from  him  in  dis- 
gust). Och,  away  with  you!  (He  goes  back  to  the  fire, 
standing  with  his  face  to  it. )  You  have  as  much  talk  as 
Jimmy  Caesar  himself! 


John  Ferguson  71 

["  CLUTTE  "  JOHN  stands  still  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. Then  he  steps  lightly  across  the 
floor  to  where  ANDREW  is  sitting  and  taps 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  Andrew ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  What  ails  you  now  ? 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  Supposing  Jimmy  Caesar  doesn't 
kill  Witherow? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Well?    Well,  well? 

"  CLUTTE"  JOHN.  That  'ud  be  fearful,  wouldn't  it? 
Can't  you  picture  Witherow  sitting  up  there  in  his  hungry 
house  laughing  to  himself  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  My  God,  "  Clutie  "! 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  And  mebbe  saying  he'll  look  out  for 
Hannah  again! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Aw,  my  God,  my  God ! 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  And  making  a  mock  of  Jimmy 
Caesar,  the  way  he  always  does,  and  calling  him  an  old 
Jenny-Jo  that'll  stand  by  and  let  another  man  do  harm  to 
his  girl  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ah,  wheesht  with  you,  wheesht ! 

"CLUTTE"  JOHN.  And  telling  people  about  it!  Ay, 
telling  people  about  it!  You  can  see  him  with  his  great 
jaw  hanging  down  and  him  roaring  with  laughter  and 
telling  them  all  in  Jefferson's  public-house  on  the  fair-day ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ay,  indeed,  that's  what  he'd  do! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  That's  what  he  done  over  the  head 
of  Martha  Foley  that  had  the  child  to  him.  Didn't  I 
hear  him  myself,  telling  them  all  about  it,  and  them 
splitting  their  sides  and  calling  him  the  great  lad  and  the 
gallous  boy  and  the  terrible  man  for  women?  .  .  .  And 
then  mebbe  him  to  be  telling  them  how  your  da,  that's 


72  John  Ferguson 

near  his  death,  went  out  to  try  and  stop  Jimmy  from 
killing  him,  and  all  the  while  your  da  was  tumbling  over 
the  dark  fields  Jimmy  was  lying  trembling  with  fright  in 
his  bed,  afeard  to  move  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  He'd  never  be  such  a  collie  as  that, 
"  Clutie."  He  couldn't  for  shame. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  (coming  nearer  to  him).  If  I  was 
Hannah's  brother  I'd  make  sure! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Make  sure!     What  do  you  mean? 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Ah,  what  do  I  mean?  Sure,  I  don't 
know  what  I'm  saying  half  my  time!  I'm  all  through- 
other.  I  don't  know  what  I  mean,  Andrew;  I  don't  know. 
God  reward  you,  and  I'll  bid  you  good-night.  I'll  go  up 
to  the  loft  and  play  a  while  to  myself.  Sure,  I'll  disturb 
no  one  there  but  the  cows  mebbe  in  the  byre,  and  God 
knows  the  poor  beasts  '11  not  complain  if  a  poor  fellow  like 
myself  has  a  small  diversion.  And  when  I  lie  down  and 
stretch  myself  in  the  hay,  I  can  be  thinking,  mebbe  Jimmy 
Caesar  is  lying  in  a  fine  warm  bed,  and  be  pitying  your 
da  that's  out  looking  for  him,  and  be  cursing  Henry 
Witherow  that's  mebbe  laughing  now  and  making  up  great 
stories  to  be  telling  on  the  fair-day  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Are  you  trying  to  drive  me  de- 
mented ? 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Wheesht,  wheesht ! 

[MRS.  FERGUSON  comes  down  the  stairs. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Will  you  not  keep  quiet,  the  pair  of 
you?  I'm  trying  hard  to  get  Hannah  asleep,  but  the 
clatter  you're  making  would  wake  the  dead!  Is  your  da 
not  back  yet,  Andrew  ? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  No,  ma,  not  yet! 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (picking  up  JIMMY  CAESAR'S  coat). 


John  Ferguson  73 

Dear  bless  us,  Jimmy  left  his  coat  behind  him.  He'll  be 
sure  to  get  his  death  of  cold,  for  he  always  had  a  delicate 
chest.  (She  puts  the  coat  aside.)  I  wish  you'd  go  and 
find  your  da,  Andrew,  and  bring  him  home.  It's  no  time 
of  the  night  for  him  to  be  wandering  about  in  the  cold  air. 
Hannah  '11  never  rest  without  him  near  her.  Will  you  not 
go  now  and  find  him,  son  ? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  All  right,  ma ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  That's  a  good  son.  Tell  him  to 
come  home  as  quick  as  he  can.  "  Clutie  "  John'll  stay 
here  while  you  look  for  him.  (She  listens  for  a  moment.) 
That's  Hannah  crying  again!  I  can't  leave  her  for  a 
minute  but  she  begins  lamenting  .  .  . 

[She  goes  hurriedly  upstairs  again.  ANDREW 
goes  to  the  door  and  looks  out.  He  is 
followed  by  "  CLUTIE  "  JOHN. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Look,  Andrew,  there's  a  light  in 
Witherow's  window.  Do  you  see  it  over  there  on  the 
side  of  the  hill?  It  shines  down  the  valley  a  long  way. 
Do  you  see  it,  Andrew? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ay. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  It  doesn't  look  as  if  Jimmy'd  got 
there,  does  it?  The  light's  still  shining. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  He  might  be  there  for  all  that. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Mebbe!  Ay,  mebbe!  Well,  I'll 
away  on  now  to  my  bed.  The  night's  turned  sharp,  and  I 
feel  tired  and  sleepy.  (He  stands  in  the  doorway,  gazing 
up  at  the  sky.)  There's  a  lot  of  wee  stars  out  the  night, 
Andrew,  but  no  moon. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ay. 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  I  oftentimes  think  it  must  be  quare 
and  lonely  up  in  the  sky.  Good-night  to  you,  Andrew ! 


74  John  Ferguson 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Good-night,  "  Clutie." 

["  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  goes  out.  ANDREW  FER- 
GUSON stands  still,  watching  the  light 
in  WITHEROW'S  window.  Then  a  great 
anger  goes  over  him.  He  mutters  some- 
thing to  himself,  and  turns  suddenly  into 
the  kitchen.  He  takes  down  the  gun  and, 
after  examining  it  to  see  if  it  is  loaded, 
he  goes  out.  In  a  few  moments  SARAH 
FERGUSON  is  heard  calling  to  him  from 
the  top  of  the  stairs. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Andrew!  Andrew!!  Are  you 
there?  (She  comes  down  part  of  the  staircase  and  looks 
over  the  banisters.)  Are  you  there,  Andrew  ?  "Clutie"! 
(She  comes  into  the  kitchen  and  looks  about  her.) 
"  Clutie  "!  (She  goes  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  calls 
up  to  HANNAH.)  It's  all  right,  Hannah,  dear!  An- 
drew's away  to  fetch  your  da ! 

[She  goes  to  the  door  and  looks  out  for  a  few 
moments.  Then  she  closes  the  door  and 
goes  up  the  stairs  again. 


ACT  III 

It  is  early  in  the  morning  of  the  following  day.  The  room 
is  bright  and  cheery  because  a  fine  sunshine  pours  in 
at  the  window  and  open  door.  There  is  nothing  in 
the  appearance  of  the  kitchen  to  indicate  that  any  un- 
usual thing  has  happened;  the  gun  is  again  suspended 
over  the  fire-place.  MRS.  FERGUSON  is  bending  over 
the  fire,  settling  a  kettle  on  the  coals  and  turf,  when 
her  husband  comes  into  the  kitchen  from  the  staircase. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Is  that  you,  John? 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay.     (He  seats  himself  by  the  fire.) 
Where's  Andrew? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  He's  away  out  to  the  byre.    Will  I 
call  him? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  do! 

[MRS.  FERGUSON  goes  to  the  door  and  calls 
out  "  Andrew!  Andrew!!  "  ANDREW  is 
heard  to  shout,  "  What  do  you  want, 
ma  ? "  and  MRS.  FERGUSON  replies, 
"  Your  da  wants  you  a  minute!  "  AN- 
DREW shouts  back,  "  I'll  be  in  in  a  wee 
while."  MRS.  FERGUSON  returns  to  the 
fire. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  He  says  he'll  be  in  in  a  minute! 
Did  you  get  your  rest,  John  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  couldn't  sleep  at  all!     I  lay  still 
and  closed  my  eyes,  but  my  mind  was  working  all  the  time. 

75 


76  John  Ferguson 

I  kept  on  wondering  where  Jimmy  went  to  last  night.  I 
suppose  no  one  has  come  up  the  "  loanie  "  with  news? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  There's  been  no  one  next  or  near 
this  place  this  morning  but  ourselves  and  "  Clutie  "  John. 
I  gave  him  his  breakfast  and  sent  him  packing.  He  was 
in  a  quare  wild  mood,  that  lad,  and  could  hardly  contain 
himself  for  excitement. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  daresay  he  was  greatly  disturbed  in 
his  mind  after  what  happened  yesterday.  Them  people  is 
quare  and  easily  excited.  I  wish  Andrew  would  come! 
Is  Hannah  up  yet? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Indeed  I  don't  know.  I  didn't  call 
her  this  morning.  She  was  a  long  while  getting  her  sleep, 
and  so  I  just  let  her  lie  on.  She'll  be  all  the  better  for  the 
rest! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay.  I  can't  make  out  where  Jimmy 
went  to  last  night.  I  thought  mebbe  he'd  go  straight  to 
Witherow  from  here,  and  so  I  went  there  first,  but  I  didn't 
see  him. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Did  you  see  Witherow  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay.     I  warned  him  about  Jimmy. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  You  warned  him? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  And  you  never  laid  a  finger  on  him  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  No. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  indeed,  I  can't  make  you  out, 
John!  There's  a  man's  harmed  your  daughter,  and  you 
didn't  as  much  as  lift  your  hand  to  him!  You  went  and 
warned  him  about  Jimmy!  .  .  .  Oh,  John,  I  can't  under- 
stand you!  It  doesn't  seem  right  someway  to  be  acting 
like  that! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  God's  Word  says  I  must  love  my  en- 


John  Ferguson  77 

emies,  Sarah.  That  is  my  guide  in  all  I  do.  It's  hard  to 
obey  that  commandment,  and  when  I  was  standing  there 
in  front  of  Witherow  I  was  tempted  to  take  a  hold  of  him 
and  do  him  an  injury  .  .  .  but  I  resisted  the  temptation, 
and  I  did  what  God  bid  me.  I  wasn't  able  to  love  him, 
but  I  warned  him.  I  could  do  no  more  than  that  .  .  . 
but  God  '11  mebbe  understand ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (sighing).  Ah,  well!  It's  a  quare 
way  to  look  at  things.  If  any  one  was  to  hurt  me,  I'd  do 
my  best  to  hurt  them  back,  and  hurt  them  harder  nor  they 
hurt  me.  That  would  learn  them ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Would  it?  Men's  been  hitting  back 
since  the  beginning  of  the  world,  but  hitting  back  has 
learned  no  one  anything  but  hatred  and  bitterness. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  What  did  you  do  after  you  saw 
Witherow  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  went  down  to  Jimmy's  shop,  but  he 
wasn't  there.  I  dundhered  on  the  door,  but  I  could  get 
no  answer.  Matt  Kerr  put  his  head  out  of  his  window, 
but  he  couldn't  tell  me  a  thing  about  Jimmy.  I  didn't 
know  what  to  do  after  that !  I  wandered  about  in  the  dark 
for  a  while,  and  then  I  went  back  to  the  shop,  but  he  still 
wasn't  there!  I  was  feeling  tired,  and  I  sat  down  for  a 
wee  while  thinking  mebbe  Jimmy  would  turn  up  while  I 
was  waiting,  but  he  didn't,  and  so  I  came  home. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  You  might  have  got  your  death  of 
cold  sitting  there  in  the  damp.  It's  a  wonder  to  me  you 
never  knocked  against  Andrew! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  it  is,  but  sure  it's  easy  to  miss 
people  when  it  isn't  light. 

[ANDREW    FERGUSON    enters    by   the   door. 
There  is  a  sombre  look  on  his  face.     It 


78  John  Ferguson 

is  not  the  darkness  of  a  man  who  is  hor- 
rified by  his  own  deed,  but  the  darkness 
of  a  man  who  has  set  himself  willingly 
to  do  some  desperate  work  that  must  be 
done. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  You  were  wanting  me,  da? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  Andrew!  (Regarding  his  son 
closely.)  You're  looking  tired,  son! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  am  tired,  but  sure  we  all  are. 
Da,  you  ought  not  to  have  got  up  this  morning.  You're 
not  strong,  and  you  must  nearly  be  worn  out. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  couldn't  rest,  son.  Andrew,  I  want 
you  to  go  and  inquire  about  Jimmy  Caesar.  I'll  not  be 
easy  in  my  mind  till  I  see  him  safe  and  sound.  I  feel  my 
own  responsibility,  son.  I'll  admit  to  you  I  was  hoping 
Hannah  'd  marry  him,  and  I  didn't  discourage  her  from 
saying  "  yes  "  to  him  when  he  asked  her,  for  all  I  knew 
she  was  only  doing  it  for  the  farm.  I  knew  the  girl 
couldn't  bear  him,  but  I  pretended  to  myself  it  would  all 
come  right  in  the  end.  I  ...  I  love  this  house,  Andrew ! 
That's  the  excuse  I  have  for  not  being  honest  with  Han- 
nah .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  sure,  you  left  it  to  her  own  free 
will. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  I  tried  to  salve  my  conscience 
that  way,  but  I  said  it  in  a  way  that  showed  plain  what  my 
desire  was.  If  I  had  been  firm,  there  would  have  been 
none  of  this  bother  now.  You  understand  me,  son,  don't 
you?  I  feel  I  won't  be  happy  till  I  see  Jimmy  safe  and 
sound  from  harm,  because  I  put  him  in  danger.  God 
knows  what  would  happen  if  he  was  to  meet  Witherow  in 
the  temper  he  was  in  last  night. 


John  Ferguson  79 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  daresay  he's  all  right,  da ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I'd  be  glad  if  you'd  go  all  the  same 
and  search  for  him,  Andrew. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Just  go  to  please  him,  Andrew.  His 
mind's  upset  about  Jimmy,  and  there'll  be  no  contenting 
him  till  he  sees  him. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  It'll  put  the  work  on  the  farm 
behind,  da  ... 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  That  doesn't  matter,  son. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  .  .  .  but  I'll  go  to  please  you! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Thank  you,  son ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  There's  no  need  for  you  to  be  un- 
easy about  him,  though.  You  may  be  sure  Jimmy's  come 
to  no  harm.  We  all  know  rightly  the  kind  he  is.  Mebbe 
he's  lying  snug  in  his  bed  this  minute,  moaning  and 
groaning,  and  saying  what  he'd  do  to  Witherow  one  of 
these  days,  but  you  know  as  well  as  you're  living  he'll 
never  do  it. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I'd  leifer  he  was  a  collie  a  thousand 
times  over  nor  have  him  take  a  man's  life. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Even  after  what  Witherow's  done? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  son.  Witherow  will  have  to 
make  his  answer  to  God,  and  God  will  deal  justly  with 
him.  We  can't  do  that.  No  one  can  do  justice  to  a  man 
that's  done  an  injury  to  them.  We'd  be  thinking  all  the 
time  of  our  trouble  and  wanting  revenge.  We  wouldn't 
be  striving  hard,  the  way  God  would,  to  understand  every- 
thing. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  There's  no  need  to  be  striving  to 
understand  everything,  da.  It's  a  plain  matter  that  a 
child  can  understand.  The  man  done  wiong,  and  he  has 
a  right  to  suffer  for  it. 


8o  John  Ferguson 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  son,  he'll  suffer  for  it,  but  that's 
the  work  of  his  Maker,  and  not  the  work  of  Jimmy  Caesar 
or  you  or  me  or  any  man.  You're  wrong,  Andrew,  when 
you  say  there's  nothing  to  understand.  There's  everything 
to  understand.  There's  the  man  himself  to  understand. 
Do  you  think  that  Jimmy  Caesar  can  judge  Henry  Withe- 
row  when  he  doesn't  know  him  as  God  knows  him  ? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (impatiently).  I've  no  time  or  pa- 
tience for  that  kind  of  talk.  If  Jimmy  Caesar  .  .  . 
killed  him  ...  he  was  right  to  kill  him  .  .  .  only  I  don't 
suppose  he  did. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Don't  you  see  now,  Andrew,  that 
you're  not  fit  to  judge  Henry  Witherow  either  ?  You  can't 
judge  a  man  if  you  have  anger  in  your  heart  against  him. 
You  must  love  him  before  you  can  do  justly  by  him. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Och,  quit,  da! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  And  that's  what  God  does,  Andrew! 
God's  something  that  sees  inside  you  and  knows  every  bit 
of  you  and  never  has  no  spite  against  you.  Do  you  under- 
stand me,  son?  He  judges  you,  but  He  doesn't  punish 
you.  He  just  gives  knowledge  to  you  so  that  you  see  your- 
self as  He  sees  you,  and  that's  your  punishment,  Andrew, 
if  you've  done  wrong.  It's  knowing  yourself  as  God 
knows  you  that  hurts  you  harder  nor  anything  else  in  the 
world.  Do  you  think  Henry  Witherow  '11  be  happy  when 
he  sees  himself  with  God's  eyes?  I  wouldn't  be  that  man 
on  the  last  day  for  the  wealth  of  the  world !  .  .  .  I'm  all 
moidhered,  Andrew,  and  I'm  a  poor  hand  at  saying  what's 
in  my  mind,  but  I  know  well  that  if  Henry  Witherow 
wronged  me  a  thousand  times  more  nor  he  has,  I'd  be  do- 
ing God's  will  if  I  knelt  down  and  kissed  his  feet. 


John  Ferguson  81 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  don't  understand  that  kind  of  re- 
ligion. 

SARAH   FERGUSON.  Here's   some  one   coming   up  the 
"  loanie."     I  can  hear  their  steps.     (She  goes  to  the  door 
as  she  speaks.)     It's  Jimmy! 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  Jimmy  Caesar"? 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ay. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Oh,  thank  God,  thank  God,  he's 
come  at  last! 

[JAMES  CAESAR  enters.  The  look  of  assur- 
ance has  completely  gone,  and  so,  too,  has 
some  of  the  meanyiess.  He  has  the  look 
of  a  man  who  has  suffered  great  shame 
and  humiliation,  and  although  he  feels 
mean,  he  does  not  look  so  mean  as  he  did 
at  the  beginning  of  the  play. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Come  in,  Jimmy,  come  in!  Sure, 
we're  all  right  and  glad  to  see  you  again ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (going  to  him  and  wringing  his  hand). 
Ay,  Jimmy,  we  are,  indeed.  I'm  glad  this  minute  to  see 
you  safe  from  harm.  Sit  down,  man!  (He  leads  CAESAR 
to  a  chair,  and  CAESAR. sits  down.)  You  must  be  worn 
out.  (JAMES  CAESAR  glances  about  the  room  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then  he  bows  his  head  on  the  table  and  begins  to 
cry  hysterically.)  Ay,  man,  you'll  want  to  cry  after  the 
trouble  you've  had. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (contemptuously).  My  God,  what 
a  man! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  It's  the  reaction,  son,  that's  what  it  is. 
He  can't  help  himself.  Nobody  could. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  A  drink  of  tea  '11  do  him  a  world  of 


82  John  Ferguson 

good.  The  kettle's  on,  and  I'll  have  the  tea  wet  in  no 
time  at  all.  (She  goes  to  CAESAR  and  pats  him  on  the 
back.)  There,  there,  Jimmy,  keep  your  heart  up!  Sure, 
we  all  know  the  troubles  you've  had  to  bear.  Just  put 
a  good  face  on  it,  and  you'll  be  as  happy  as  you  like. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I'm  a  disgraced  man! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  No,  no,  no,  Jimmy! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (raising  his  head).  Ay,  I  am,  John. 
I'm  a  disgraced  man!  I  heard  what  Andrew  said  to  you 
a  minute  ago,  and  he  was  right.  "  My  God,"  he  said, 
"  what  a  man!  " 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  sure,  Andrew  didn't  mean  it, 
Jimmy.  Don't  be  paying  no  heed  to  him. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (angrily).    I  did  mean  it. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  That's  poor  comfort,  Andrew,  to  be 
offering  to  a  broken  man.  I'd  be  ashamed  to  say  that  to 
any  one. 

JAMES  CAESAR  (as  if  eager  to  make  little  of  himself). 
But  it's  true,  John,  for  all  that.  I've  failed  another  time. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  It  was  God  that  checked  you,  Jimmy. 

JOHN  CAESAR.  I  went  out  of  this  house  last  night  with 
my  mind  set  on  killing  Witherow.  If  I'd  met  him  in  the 
"  loanie  "I'd  'a'  throttled  him  there  and  then  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I'm  thankful  you  didn't  meet  him! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (rambling  on).  ...  I  was  near  de- 
mented with  rage,  and  I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing. 
I  started  off  for  his  farm.  I  could  see  the  light  in  his 
front  room  shining  down  the  glen,  and  it  drew  me  towards 
it.  I  was  that  mad  I  didn't  care  what  I  done.  I  scram- 
bled through  the  hedges  and  tore  my  hands  and  face  with 
the  thorns.  Look  at  the  cuts  on  my  hands ! 

[He  holds  out  his  hands  for  inspection. 


John  Ferguson  83 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  ay. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  But  I  didn't  care  what  happened  to  me. 
I  felt  nothing  but  the  desire  to  get  Witherow  dead.  I 
went  across  the  fields,  tumbling  over  stocks  of  corn,  and 
slipping  in  puddles  and  drains  till  I  come  near  the  farm, 
and  then  I  remembered  I  had  nothing  to  kill  him  with  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (sneering).  Ha! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (turning  to  ANDREW).  I'm  no  match  for 
him,  Andrew,  and  if  I'd  gone  into  the  house  then,  he'd 
have  thrown  me  into  the  yard  before  I  could  have  lifted  a 
finger  to  him.  (Insisting  on  his  weakness.)  I  haven't 
the  strength,  Andrew,  and  I've  a  poor  spirit.  It  wouldn't 
have  been  a  fair  fight  if  I'd  gone  in  then  and  me  with  no 
weapon,  would  it,  Andrew?  Would  it,  John?  I  hadn't 
even  a  sally  rod  in  my  hands! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  He's  stronger  nor  you  by  a  good 
piece,  Jimmy. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Yes,  Mrs.  Ferguson!  That's  what  I 
said  to  myself.  I  said,  "I'll  have  no  chance  against  him 
if  I  go  without  a  weapon!  "  That's  what  I  said  to  myself. 
I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  go  back  to  the  shop  to  get  my  gun, 
and  then  I'd  come  back  again  to  the  farm  and  I'd  shoot 
him  dead. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Aw,  horrible,  horrible. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  And  why  didn't  you  go  back 
again  ? 

JAMES  CAESAR  (miserably).  You've  guessed  right,  An- 
drew. I  never  went  near  the  place  again.  I  got  to  the 
shop  and  I  went  in  quietly  and  got  the  gun,  and  then  I 
come  out  again.  I  had  hardly  got  across  the  doorstep 
when  I  began  to  feel  afeard,  and  I  could  feel  the  gun 
shaking  in  my  hands  as  I  gripped  it.  I  went  a  bit  of  the 


84  John  Ferguson 

way  along  the  road,  and  I  kept  thinking  some  one  was 
watching  me,  and  then  all  of  a  sudden  I  started  to  run,  and 
I  run  and  I  run  till  I  come  to  the  planting.  I  went  in 
among  the  trees,  and  before  I  knew  where  I  was  I  tripped 
over  something  on  the  ground  and  the  gun  went  off  in  my 
hands.  I  was  scared  of  my  life  for  fear  any  one  would 
hear  it,  and  I  got  up  and  left  the  gun  on  the  ground,  and 
I  run  on  through  the  trees  like  a  wild  thing  till  I  could  run 
no  more.  Then  I  crawled  in  under  a  whinbush  and  I  hid 
there  till  this  morning.  I  lay  there  cursing  myself  for  a 
collie,  and  trying  to  stir  myself  up  to  go  and  kill  him  in 
the  daylight  .  .  .  but  I  couldn't  do  it.  I  kept  on  making 
excuses.  That's  the  sort  of  me,  John !  I'm  always  imag- 
ining myself  doing  grand  things,  and  seeing  people  clap- 
ping me  and  making  speeches  about  me,  and  printing 
things  in  the  papers  because  of  my  greatness  and  my  gal- 
lantry; but  if  a  cow  was  to  make  a  run  at  me  in  the  fields, 
I'd  be  near  scared  to  death  of  it.  It's  bad  enough,  An- 
drew, to  know  that  other  people  are  ashamed  of  you,  but 
it's  hell  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  the  way  I  am  this  min- 
ute, and  it's  hell  to  have  dreams  of  yourself  doing  big 
things,  and  you  knowing  rightly  you'll  never  have  the 
pluck  to  do  a  wee  thing,  let  alone  a  big  one. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  There's  many  a  thing  that  a  lad  like 
Andrew  might  think  was  big,  but  it's  quare  and  small. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  It's  kind  of  you  to  talk  the  way  you  do, 
John,  but  it's  poor  comfort  to  a  man  that  knows  he's  as 
poor-spirited  as  myself.  If  Hannah  was  married  on  me 
now,  I  feel  I  would  leave  her  in  the  lurch  if  she  needed 
my  help  any  time.  That's  the  way  of  me,  and  I  knew  it 
well  last  night  when  I  was  hiding  under  the  whin-bush. 
I'm  not  like  you,  John  Ferguson,  that  has  no  hatred  in 


John  Ferguson  85 

your  heart,  and  can  forgive  a  man  that  does  an  injury  to 
you.  I'm  full  of  hate,  and  I  want  to  hurt  them  that  hurts 
me,  but  I  haven't  the  courage  to  do  it. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Well,  there's  no  use  in  sitting  here 
talking  about  it. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  No,  Andrew,  there  isn't.  I  come  here 
this  morning  to  excuse  myself  to  Hannah  and  all  of  you. 
I  thought  that  was  the  least  I  could  do. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  No,  no,  Jimmy,  no,  no!  I'm  right 
and  glad  you  didn't  harm  Witherow.  I'd  have  been  sore- 
hearted  if  you  had. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  He  went  out  to  search  for  you  last 
night,  Jimmy. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Who?     John? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ay. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  He  searched  the  place  for  you.  A 
sick  man  went  out  to  try  and  prevent  a  strong,  able-bodied 
man  from  doing  what  he  ought  to  have  done ;  and  while  the 
sick  man  was  wearing  himself  out  with  the  search,  the 
strong  man  was  hiding  underneath  a  whin-bush  in  mortal 
fear  of  his  life ! 

[ANDREW'S  voice  grows  in  anger  and  con- 
tempt as  he  speaks. 

JAMES  CAESAR  (miserably).  Oh,  my  God,  my  God! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Wheesht,  Andrew,  wheesht!  Jimmy, 
man,  it's  not  like  the  thing  for  you  to  give  way  in  that 
fashion!  Control  yourself,  man!  I'm  as  happy  this  min- 
ute as  ever  I've  been  in  my  life  because  I  know  God's 
saved  you  from  sinning  your  soul  with  a  murder.  I'm 
proud  to  think  you  wouldn't  kill  Witherow  .  .  . 

JAMES  CAESAR  (in  a  -misery  of  self-abasement).  But 
I'm  not  saved  from  sin,  John.  I  didn't  leave  Witherow 


86  John  Ferguson 

alone  because  I  didn't  want  to  kill  him.  I  did  want  to 
kill  him.  I  left  him  alone  because  I  was  afeard  to  touch 
him.  My  mind's  the  same  now  as  it  was  when  I  went 
out  of  this  house  last  night  with  murder  in  my  heart.  I 
want  Witherow  to  be  dead.  I'd  be  glad  this  minute  if 
some  one  come  in  the  door  there  and  told  me  he  was  dead. 
But  I'd  be  afeard  to  lay  a  finger  on  him  myself.  That's 
the  cowardliest  thing  of  all,  to  want  to  commit  a  sin  and 
not  have  the  courage  to  do  it.  Do  you  think  God  '11  be 
gratified  when  he  thinks  I  didn't  kill  Witherow  because  I 
was  too  big  a  collie  to  do  it? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  quit  talking  about  it  anyway. 
Make  yourself  content  while  I  get  you  a  bite  to  eat. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I  couldn't  taste  it.     It  'ud  choke  me. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Now,  a  drop  of  tea  never  choked  no 
one.  The  kettle's  boiling,  and  it'll  not  take  me  a  minute 
to  make  a  cup  of  good  warm  tea  for  you.  You  must  be 
perished  with  the  cold,  and  you  lying  out  on  the  damp 
grass  all  night.  Just  content  yourself  while  I  spread  the 
table. 

[She  sets  about  preparing  the  meal. 

JAMES  CAESAR  (in  whom  confession  has  now  grown  to 
something  like  a  craving).  I  know  rightly  you  have  con- 
tempt for  me,  Andrew.  (ANDREW  stands  at  the  window 
with  his  back  to  the  others.  He  does  not  answer.)  I 
know  you  have.  Anybody  would.  (To  JOHN  FERGU- 
SON. )  Hannah  '11  have  the  quare  contempt  for  me  too. 
There'll  be  plenty  will,  and  they'll  be  pointing  at  me  and 
making  remarks  about  me.  It'll  be  quare  and  hard  for 
me  to  hold  up  my  head  again  after  this.  It  will,  in  sang. 
(His  voice  changes  its  note  slightly  as  he  begins  to  specu- 


John  Ferguson  87 

late  on  his  conduct. )  You  know,  it's  quare  the  way  things 
turn  out!  Yesterday,  after  Hannah  said  she'd  have  me, 
I  was  having  the  great  notions  of  myself  and  her.  I  im- 
agined myself  prospering  greatly,  and  Andrew  here  doing 
well  in  the  branch  I  was  going  to  open  at  Ballymaclurg, 
and  then  I  thought  to  myself  I'd  mebbe  get  made  a  magis- 
trate .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (scornfully).  Ha!     Ha,  ha! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Well,  Andrew,  there's  many  that's  not 
so  well  reared  as  myself  that  are  made  magistrates  this  day, 
and  can  send  fellows  like  "  Clutie  "  John  to  jail  for  a 
month  and  more  for  being  without  visible  means  of  sub- 
sistence .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Ay,  indeed,  that  sort  of  a  job 
would  suit  you  rightly !  You  could  be  doing  an  injury  to 
other  people  without  running  any  risk  yourself!  By  my 
sang,  Jimmy,  you  ought  to  be  a  magistrate!  Mebbe  if 
you  were  one  now  you'd  fine  Witherow  forty  shillings  for 
what  he  done  to  Hannah!  (In  great  fury.)  Ah,  you 
make  me  feel  sick!  I'll  go  out  in  the  air  a  while  and  be 
quit  of  you.  I'm  near  stifled  in  here! 

[He  goes  out  violently. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  There  you  are,  John !  That's  the  kind 
of  contempt  I'll  have  to  thole  from  people  after  this. 
Hannah's  tongue  is  bitterer  nor  Andrew's,  and  she'll  be 
harder  to  bear  nor  him. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (completing  the  arrangements  for  the 
meal).  Well,  indeed,  it's  easy  enough  to  bear  the  weight 
of  a  person's  tongue.  You'll  come  to  small  harm,  Jimmy 
Caesar,  if  that's  all  the  trouble  you  have.  Sit  up,  now, 
and  take  your  breakfast! 


John  Ferguson 


JAMES  CAESAR  (drawing  his  chair  closer  to  the  table). 
It's  kind  and  thoughtful  of  you,  Mrs.  Ferguson,  but  I've 
no  appetite  at  all. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  wheesht  with  you! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I'll  only  take  the  tea. 

[He  begins  to  eat  his  breakfast. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Draw  up,  John,  to  the  table!  I 
wonder  ought  I  to  call  Andrew  in  or  let  him  have  his  after 
a  wee  while. 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (coming  to  the  table).  Leave  him  for 
the  present.  His  mind's  disturbed. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Very  well.  (She  goes  to  the  foot  of 
the  stairs.)  Hannah!  (She  pauses,  and  then  calls 
again.)  Hannah! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  You're  not  bringing  her  down,  are  you? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  She  has  to  have  her  food  the  same  as 
yourself.  (She  calls  again.)  Are  you  up  yet,  Hannah ! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (upstairs).  Ay,  ma. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  come  down  and  have  your 
breakfast.  [She  returns  to  the  table  and  sits  down. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Mebbe  she'd  better  have  hers  upstairs. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  No,  indeed,  she  won't  have  it  up- 
stairs. There's  no  good  of  her  sitting  up  there  crying  her 
eyes  out.  The  world  has  to  go  on  just  the  same  as  ever, 
no  matter  what  happens.  What'll  you  have,  Jimmy?  A 
piece  of  soda  or  a  piece  of  wheaten  farl?  I  baked  the 
soda  yesterday. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Ah,  I  couldn't  touch  it. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (putting  bread  on  his  plate).  Well, 
just  take  it  on  your  plate  anyway,  and  if  you  have  a  fancy 
for  it  after  a  while  it'll  be  convenient  to  you.  John, 
what'll  you  have?  (HANNAH  descends  the  stairs.)  Ah, 


John  Ferguson  89 

is  that  you  at  last,  Hannah  ?  Come  on  here  and  have  your 
breakfast!  Do  you  see  Jimmy  Caesar? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  ma.  Good-morning,  Jimmy! 
[She  sits  down  beside  her  father. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Good-morning  to  you,  Hannah. 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (kissing  HANNAH  affectionately). 
How're  you,  daughter? 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Hannah,  I've  come  here  this  morning  to 
make  a  confession  to  you! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Well,  eat  your  breakfast  first. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I  must  tell  her,  Mrs.  Ferguson,  before 
I  take  another  bite.  Hannah,  I  went  out  last  night  to  kill 
Henry  Witherow,  but  when  I  was  getting  ready  to  kill  him. 
I  got  afeard  and  I  run  away  and  hid  myself.  I  come  here 
this  morning  to  tell  you  the  poor  sort  of  a  man  I  am.  I 
daresay  you're  thankful  you  broke  your  word  to  me,  for 
I'm  not  much  of  a  support  for  any  woman. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I  don't  want  you  to  make  no  con- 
fession to  me. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Ah,  but  I  must.  Sure,  I  must  tell  peo- 
ple the  way  I  feel.  That's  the  only  thing  that's  left  to  me 
now.  Hannah,  will  you  forgive  me  for  not  killing  With- 
erow? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I  didn't  ask  you  to  kill  him.  I 
had  no  call  to  ask  you. 

JAMES  CAESAR  (on  whom  the  mean  manner  has  gradu- 
ally been  gaining  control).  If  you're  not  angry  with  me, 
Hannah,  then  I'm  glad  I  didn't  do  an  injury  to  him.  If  I 
had  killed  him,  mebbe  it  would  have  done  no  good!  I 
daresay  your  da's  right!  Sure,  if  I'd  done  anything  to 
Witherow  I'd  'a'  been  put  in  jail,  and  my  business  that 
I've  built  up  this  long  while  would  'a'  been  sold  on  me, 


90  John  Ferguson 

and  mebbe  I'd  be  hanged,  and  there'd  be  no  good  in  that 
at  all.  I  wonder  now  is  it  not  better  to  forget  and  forgive ! 
Of  course,  if  a  man  does  wrong  he  ought  to  be  made  to 
suffer  for  it.  That's  only  right,  and  if  Witherow  was 
brought  before  the  magistrates  .  .  . 

[HANNAH  gets  up  suddenly  in  distress. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Oh,  quit  talking  about  it,  quit 
talking ! 

[She  goes  to  the  sofa  and.  throws  herself  prone 
on  it. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (going  to  her).  There,  there,  Han- 
nah, don't  be  upsetting  yourself! 

[She  comforts  HANNAH. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  That's  the  way  of  me  again,  John! 
I'm  always  raking  things  up!  I  wish  now  I  had  killed 
Witherow.  There'd  be  some  satisfaction  in  that!  Do 
you  think  Hannah  'd  marry  me  if  I  was  to  ask  her  again  ? 
I'd  be  willing  to  marry  her  just  the  same!  (He  turns  to 
HANNAH.)  Hi,  Hannah,  do  you  hear  that?  I'm  will- 
ing to  marry  you  just  the  same  if  you'll  have  me!  Will 
you? 

[HANNAH  still  sobbing,  does  not  reply. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Hannah,  dear,  do  you  not  hear 
Jimmy  speaking  to  you? 

JAMES  CAESAR  (getting  up  and  going  to  HANNAH). 
Listen,  Hannah!  I  was  thinking  as  I  was  coming  along 
that  mebbe  you'd  have  a  poor  opinion  of  me  when  you 
heard  the  way  I'd  behaved,  but  mebbe  after  all  things  has 
turned  out  for  the  best,  and  if  you'll  marry  me  I  daresay 
we'll  be  as  happy  as  any  one.  (To  MRS.  FERGUSON.) 
Dear  bless  us,  Mrs.  Ferguson,  it's  quare  the  way  my  mind 


John  Ferguson  91 

alters  every  wee  minute  or  so!  I  think  one  time  I  ought 
to  have  killed  Witherow,  and  then  I  think  another  time  I 
was  right  not  to  kill  him,  and  one  minute  I'm  ashamed  of 
myself  and  another  minute  I'm  near  satisfied.  ( To  HAN- 
NAH.) Are  you  listening  to  me,  Hannah? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Don't  trouble  her  now,  Jimmy! 
Come  and  finish  your  breakfast. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Well,  we  can  discuss  it  later.  (He  re- 
turns to  the  table  and  begins  his  meal  again.)  When  I 
come  in  here  this  morning  I  felt  as  if  I  could  never  put 
another  bite  of  food  in  my  mouth,  and  now  I'm  eating  my 
breakfast  as  easy  as  anything.  How  would  you  account 
for  the  like  of  that,  John  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  can  account  for  nothing,  Jimmy, 
outside  God's  will. 

JAMES  CAESAR  (unctuously).  Ah,  that's  true.  "God 
moves  in  a  mysterious  way  His  wonders  to  perform." 

["  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  enters  in  a  state  of  great 
excitement, 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  Mr.  Ferguson!     Mr.  Ferguson!! 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (starting  up  in  alarm).  Ah, 
"  Clutie  "  John,  go  'long  with  you!  You  near  starred  me 
out  of  my  wits!  What  do  you  want  to  come  running  in 
like  that  for?  Go  'long  with  you,  man!  We  don't  want 
you  here  the  day  again! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  (tensely).  I  must  tell  you,  I  must  tell 
you!  Mr.  Ferguson!  .  .  .  (He  sees  JAMES  CAESAR.) 
Oh,  there's  Mr.  Caesar! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Have  you  never  seen  me  before,  you 
great  gumph  you,  that  you're  standing  there  gaping  at  me 
like  that? 


92  John  Ferguson 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  What  is  it,  "  Clutie"?  (To  JAMES 
CAESAR.)  Don't  be  harsh  with  him,  Jimmy!  He's 
greatly  upset  after  what  happened  yesterday. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  All  right! 

[He  goes  on  with  his  meal. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  I've  fearful  news  for  you,  Mr.  Fer- 
guson !  It's  quare  Mr.  Caesar  should  be  here ! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  What's  quare  about  it? 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN  (looking  at  him  in  an  odd  manner). 
Didn't  you  kill  Mr.  Witherow  ? 

JAMES  CAESAR  (rising  in  a  fury).  Quit  out  of  the  place, 
damn  you  .  .  . 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN  (shrinking  from  CAESAR  and  running 
to  JOHN  FERGUSON).  Don't  let  him  strike  me,  Mr.  Fergu- 
son! I'm  afeard  of  my  life  of  him! 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (quietening  him).  He'll  not  harm  you, 
"Clutie."  Sit  down  somewhere  and  control  yourself! 
And  don't  be  talking  about  killing  anybody! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  But  he's  dead,  Mr.  Ferguson! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Dead! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Who's  dead? 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Henry  Witherow! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  My  God ! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  He  was  found  this  morning  in  the 
farmyard  shot  through  the  heart. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Shot! 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Ay,  shot  he  was!  The  peelers  is  up 
at  the  farm  now.  Sergeant  Kernaghan  and  two  constables 
is  there  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Aw,  it's  not  true,  it's  not  true !  The 
poor  creature's  demented  and  doesn't  know  what  he's  say- 
ing! 


John  Ferguson  93 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  "  Clutie,"  are  you  sure?  .  .  . 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  Ay,  Hannah,  I  am.  Certain  sure! 
(To  MRS.  FERGUSON.)  It  is  true.  It  is  indeed,  and 
'deed  and  doubles!  I  wouldn't  tell  you  a  lie  for  the 
world.  I  saw  his  corpse  myself,  stretched  out  in  the  yard. 
It  was  quare  to  think  of  him  lying  there,  and  me  could  hit 
him  if  I  liked  and  him  couldn't  hit  back! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  But  .  .  .  but  who  killed  him? 
(JOHN  FERGUSON  turns  to  look  at  him,  and  JAMES 
CAESAR  sees  accusation  in  his  eyes.)  I  didn't  do  it,  John! 
It  wasn't  me  that  killed  him!  I  swear  to  God  it  wasn't 
me!  I'll  take  my  oath  on  the  Bible!  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Jimmy!  .  .  . 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I  tell  you  I  didn't  do  it.  How  do  you 
know  he's  dead  ?  You  only  have  "  Clutie  "  John's  word 
for  it,  and  you  know  rightly  he's  away  in  the  mind! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Oh,  he's  dead,  thank  God,  he's 
dead! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (turning  to  her).  It's  mebbe  not  true, 
Hannah  .  .  . 

"CLUTIE"  JOHN.  It's  as  true  as  death,  Hannah!  I 
tell  you  I  saw  him  myself,  and  the  peelers  were  asking  a 
wheen  of  questions  .  .  . 

JAMES  CAESAR  (in  a  panic).  Did  they  ask  anything 
about  me,  "  Clutie  "?  (He  does  not  wait  for  an  answer, 
but  sitting  down  at  the  table  buries  his  face  in  his  hands.) 
Oh,  my  God,  they'll  be  blaming  me  for  it,  and  I  never  did 
it  at  all!  (He  gets  up  and  goes  to  JOHN  FERGUSON, 
plucking  his  arm.)  John,  listen  to  me!  You  know  the 
sort  I  am,  don't  you?  You  know  rightly  I  couldn't  have 
done  it  myself !  I  came  here  this  morning  and  told  you  I 
was  afeard  to  do  it!  Oh,  my  God,  won't  you  believe  me? 


94  John  Ferguson 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Jimmy! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (miserably).  Ay,  Hannah. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Don't  deny  it  if  you  did  it. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I  wouldn't  deny  it!  (He  goes  to  HAN- 
NAH.) Hannah,  make  your  da  believe  me!  Tell  him 
you  don't  think  I  did  it.  You  don't,  do  you? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  You  say  you  didn't,  Jimmy! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  But  you  think  I  did  do  it !  I  know  you 
do !  I  can  see  it  in  your  eyes ! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I'd  be  proud  if  you  had  done  it, 
Jimmy! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (miserably) .  Every  one  '11  think  I  did 
it,  the  peelers  and  every  one! 

[He  subsides  again  at  the  table. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  It's  a  fearful  thing  to  take  a  man's 
life.  It  is,  in  sang !  There  was  many  a  song  made  up  in 
Ireland  about  the  like  of  a  thing  of  that  sort.  I  wonder, 
now,  could  I  make  up  a  song  about  Henry  Witherow  to  be 
singing  on  the  fair-days! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Wheesht  with  you,  "  Clutie  "! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (starting  up  and  addressing  "  CLUTTE  " 
JOHN).  What  sort  of  questions  were  the  peelers  asking, 
"  Clutie  "  ?  Did  they  make  any  mention  of  me,  did  you 
hear? 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  I  couldn't  hear  a  word  they  were  say- 
ing, Mr.  Caesar,  but  whatever  questions  they  were  asking, 
they  were  putting  the  answers  down  in  their  wee  books. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  If  they  get  to  know  I  had  a  grudge 
against  Witherow  over  the  head  of  Hannah,  they'll  be 
after  me.  They  know  rightly  I  never  cared  for  him  any 
time  of  my  life,  but  then  I  never  done  any  harm  to  him  for 


John  Ferguson  95 

all  my  talk,  and  if  they  didn't  know  about  Hannah  raebbe 
they'd  never  think  of  me.  (Going  to  JOHN  FERGUSON.) 
John,  you'll  never  let  on  anything,  will  you?  (He  turns, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  and  speaks  to  MRS.  FER- 
GUSON and  HANNAH.)  You  two  won't  either,  will  you? 
And  "  Clutie  "  John?  I'm  sorry,  "  Clutie,"  for  all  I  said 
to  you.  I  wasn't  thinking,  that's  why  I  said  it.  And  if 
you'll  not  let  on  to  the  peelers  about  me,  I'll  give  you 
something  for  yourself. 

"  CLUTIE  "  JOHN.  What'll  you  give  me,  Mr.  Caesar? 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I  don't  know  yet.  I'll  give  you  some- 
thing. I'll  give  you  your  dinner  whenever  you  want  it, 
and  I'll  let  you  sleep  in  my  loft.  (To  JOHN  FERGU- 
SON.) John,  make  him  promise  not  to  clash  on  me! 
You  have  more  influence  over  him  nor  any  one.  Where's 
Andrew  ?  We  must  make  him  promise  too !  Call  him  in, 
Mrs.  Ferguson,  and  bid  him  promise  he  won't  tell! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  We  can't  make  any  promises,  Jimmy. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  You'll  not  promise!  Oh,  you'll  never 
go  and  tell  the  peelers,  will  you,  and  have  them  suspecting 
me,  and  me  didn't  do  it? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  You  must  answer  to  the  law, 
Jimmy  .  .  . 

JAMES  CAESAR.  But  I  didn't  do  it,  I  tell  you!  I'll  take 
my  oath  I  didn't!  Where's  the  Bible?  I'll  swear  on  the 
Bible!  [ANDREW  FERGUSON  enters  from  the  door. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  What  ails  you  all  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Henry  Witherow's  dead! 

[ANDREW  pauses  for  a  few  moments  before  he 
replies.  When  he  speaks  his  voice  is 
very  strained. 


96  John  Ferguson 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Oh! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  He  was  found  in  his  yard  this  morn- 
ing, shot! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Shot! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  That's  .  .  .  quare! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (wildly).  Your  da  thinks  it  was  me  that 
shot  him,  Andrew,  and  so  does  your  ma  and  Hannah,  but 
I  tell  you  I  didn't.  You  know  me,  Andrew,  don't  you? 
You  guessed  that  I  wouldn't  have  the  courage  to  kill  With- 
erow,  didn't  you  ?  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (turning  away  from  him).  Ay. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  There,  you  hear  what  your  son  says, 
John  Ferguson!  You  hear  him,  don't  you?  Andrew 
doesn't  believe  I  did  it.  I  feel  happier  in  my  mind  now. 
Mebbe  the  peelers'll  believe  me  when  I  tell  them  I  didn't 
do  it.  Sergeant  Kernaghan  knows  me  well.  Him  and  me 
was  at  the  same  school  together  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  You  ought  to  try  and  get  away, 
Jimmy  .  .  . 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Get  away !  .  .  .  Do  you  not  believe  me 
either,  Andrew?  Do  you  think  I  killed  him? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  No,  I  don't  believe  you  did,  but 
it's  likely  other  people  '11  think  it. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Jimmy,  why  don't  you  ease  your 
mind?  There's  no  boundary  to  the  love  of  God,  and  if 
you  confess  your  sin,  He'll  forgive  you  for  it. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Will  I  never  satisfy  you,  John?  Will 
you  never  believe  I  didn't  do  it? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  wish  I  could  believe  you. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  If  you  can  prove  where  you 
were  . 


John  Ferguson  97 

JAMES  CAESAR.  How  can  I  prove  it  when  no  one  seen 
me? 

["  CLUTTE  "  JOHN  goes  to  the  door  and  looks 
down  the  "  loanie." 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  Here's  the  peelers  coming! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (in  terror).  Oh,  my  God! 

"  CLUTTE  "  JOHN.  There's  the  sergeant  and  the  con- 
stables and  a  crowd  of  people  running  after  them! 

JAMES  CAESAR.  They're  coming  for  me!  I  know 
rightly  they  are!  They'll  take  me  up  ...  John,  for  the 
love  of  God,  help  me  to  hide  somewhere! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  can't,  Jimmy,  I  can't.  If  you've 
broke  the  law,  the  law  must  have  its  reckoning. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Have  you  changed  your  mind, 
then,  da!  You  were  all  for  love  and  forgiveness  a  while 
ago. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  son,  I  was,  and  I  am  still,  but 
Jimmy  must  redeem  himself.  A  man  should  submit  to 
punishment  of  his  own  free  will,  not  be  dragged  to  it.  I 
know  I'm  not  thinking  clear,  but  I'm  certain  that  Jimmy 
should  submit  to  the  law,  whether  he  killed  Witherow  or 
not.  It'll  tell  again'  him  if  he  runs  away. 

[  The  noise  of  the  approaching  crowd  is  heard. 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I  must  hide,  I  must  hide !  I  can't  face 
them!  (He  gazes  wildly  round  the  room.)  Hannah,  tell 
your  da  to  let  me  hide ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  There's  no  use  in  hiding,  Jimmy. 
You  can't  hide  from  yourself,  can  you? 

JAMES  CAESAR.  Hide  me,  Hannah,  and  God  '11  reward 
you! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (appealingly) .  Da!  ... 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  can't,  daughter.     He  must  submit 


98  John  Ferguson 

himself  to  the  will  of  God.     There's  no  other  way  for  a 
man  to  save  himself. 

[The  crowd  comes  to  the  door.  SERGEANT 
KERNAGHAN  and  the  two  constables  step 
inside  the  kitchen.  The  Sergeant  ad- 
vances while  the  constables  keep  back  the 
murmuring  crowd  which  surges  round  the 
door. 

SERGEANT  KERNAGHAN.  I'm  sorry  to  put  you  to  any 
bother.  (He  sees  JAMES  CAESAR.)  Ah,  James  Caesar,  I 
arrest  you  on  the  suspicion  of  murdering  Henry  Witherow, 
and  I  warn  you  that  anything  you  say  will  be  taken  down 
in  writing  and  used  as  evidence  against  you ! 

JAMES  CAESAR  (shrinking).  I  didn't  do  it!  I  tell  you, 
I  didn't  do  it!  Sergeant,  for  the  love  of  God  don't  take 
me  up!  You  and  me  attended  the  same  school  to- 
gether .  .  . 

SERGEANT  KERNAGHAN.  I'm  heartsore  at  having  to  do 
it,  Jimmy,  but  I  can't  help  myself. 

[He  beckons  to  the  constables,  who  come  for- 
ward and  put  handcuffs  on  CAESAR'S 
wrists.  The  crowd  penetrates  into  the 
room,  and  the  Sergeant  goes  and  pushes 
it  back. 

JAMES  CAESAR  (more  calmly).  I  meant  to  kill  him.     I 
admit  that.     ( The  crowd  tosses  this  admission  from  lip  to 
lip.)     But  I  didn't  do  it.     If  I  should  never  speak  again, 
that's  the  God's  truth!     I'm  not  sorry  he's  dead,  but  it 
wasn't  me  that  killed  him. 
SERGEANT  KERNAGHAN.  Come  along,  now. 
JAMES  CAESAR.  Good-bye  to  you  all! 


John  Ferguson  99 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  God  give  you  peace,  Jimmy  I 
HANNAH  FERGUSON  (going  to  CAESAR  and  touching  his 
arm.)  Good-bye,  Jimmy!  , 

JAMES  CAESAR.  I  wish  for  your  sake  I  had  killed  him, 
I'd  be  a  happier  man  nor  I  am. 

SERGEANT  KERNAGHAN.  I  must  ask  you  to  come  along 
now.  (To  the  constables.)  Just  clear  the  crowd  away 
from  the  door! 

[The  constables  push  the  people  away  from 
the  door,  and  then  they  and  the  Sergeant 
close  about  JIMMY  CAESAR  and  take  him 
away.  The  crowd  surges  round  them  and 
slowly  disappears,  murmuring  loudly  as 
it  goes.  HANNAH  closes  the  door  behind 
them  and  then  goes  and  sits  down  on  the 
sofa  beside  her  mother,  who  is  weeping. 
There  is  silence  for  a  moment. 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  God  knows  His  own  ways  best ! 

[ANDREW  stands  staring  in  front  of  him. 
Then  he  goes  to  the  door  and  opens  it, 
and  stands  gazing  down  the  "  loanie " 
after  the  retreating  crowd.  "  CLUTEE  " 
JOHN  sits  down  on  the  seat  in  the  fire- 
place and  takes  out  his  whistle.  He  be- 
gins to  play  "  Willie  Reilly  and  his  Col- 
leen Bawn." 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (fiercely).  Quit  that  damned  whis- 
tle, will  you? 

["  CLUTTE  "  JOHN  looks  up  at  him  queslfion- 
ingly,  and  then  puts  the  whistle  away. 
ANDREW  stands  stiU  for  a  moment  longer. 


ioo  John  Ferguson 

Then  he  closes  the  door  and  walks  to- 
wards the  fire  and  holds  his  hands  in 
front  of  the  blaze. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  It's  colder  the  day  nor  it  was  yes- 
terday! 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  son! 


ACT  IV 

It  is  the  late  afternoon  of  a  day  a  fortnight  later.  JOHN 
FERGUSON,  who  has  become  feebler  in  the  interval, 
but  at  the  same  time  more  deeply  religious,  is  sitting 
in  the  attitude  in  which  he  was  seen  at  the  beginning 
of  the  play.  His  chair  is  drawn  up  to  the  fire,  and  he 
has  his  Bible  open  in  his  hands.  He  is  reading  the 
eighteenth  chapter  of  the  second  book  of  Samuel.  It 
is  clear  from  his  look  of  fragility  that  he  is  dying. 
MRS.  FERGUSON  is  standing  at  the  door,  looking 
down  the  "  loanie." 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (reading  aloud).  "  And  the  king  said, 
Is  the  young  man  Absalom  safe?  And  Ahimaaz  an- 
swered, When  Joab  sent  the  king's  servant,  and  me  thy 
servant,  I  saw  a  great  tumult,  but  I  knew  not  what  it  was. 
And  the  king  said  unto  him,  Turn  aside  and  stand  there. 
And  he  turned  aside  and  stood  still.  And,  behold,  Cushi 
came ;  and  Cushi  said,  Tidings,  my  lord,  the  king :  for  the 
Lord  hath  avenged  thee  this  day  of  all  them  that  rose  up 
against  thee.  And  the  king  said  unto  Cushi,  Is  the  young 
man  Absalom  safe?  .  .  ." 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Here's  Hannah  now,  John!  She's 
just  turned  the  corner  of  the  "  loanie." 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (looking  up  from  the  Bible).  Ay, 
wife,  it'll  be  about  her  time. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (enterin-g  the  kitchen  and  setting  a 
101 


102  John  Ferguson 

kettle  on  the  fire).  I  don't  know  how  she  can  bear  to  go 
and  see  Jimmy  the  way  she  does  when  she  minds  every- 
thing. If  it  hadn't  been  for  her  changing  her  mind,  With- 
erow  would  be  living  now ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (putting  the  Bible  down  on  the  table 
beside  him,  and  turning  to  his  wife).  You  must  never  say 
the  like  of  that  to  her,  Sarah!  The  girl  couldn't  see  in 
front  of  her.  No  one  could. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  She  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
him  before  he  killed  Witherow,  and  now  she  goes  to  see 
him  whenever  they'll  let  her  in  the  jail!  You  would  near 
think  she  was  in  love  with  him  over  the  head  of  the  crime, 
though  I  don't  believe  she  is  myself  for  all  she  visits  him. 
(She  sits  down  on  the  sofa  and  takes  up  some  darning  on 
which  she  begins  to  work.)  There's  been  a  quare  change 
in  her  this  last  fortnight!  She's  quieter  on  it,  and  not  so 
headstrong  and  set  on  herself  as  she  used  to  be.  Indeed, 
sometimes  I  near  think  she's  in  a  decline. 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (sighing  as  he  speaks).  Ay,  she's 
been  through  a  mort  of  sorrow,  that  girl !  She's  young  to 
be  feeling  the  weight  of  the  world  already. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  indeed!  And  there's  Andrew 
hasn't  a  word  to  say  to  any  one  since  it  happened.  Some- 
times I  try  to  talk  to  him  about  Jimmy,  but  sure  I  might  as 
well  hold  my  tongue.  All  I  can  get  out  of  him  is  "  Ay, 
ma!  "  or  "  No,"  or  mebbe  he'll  just  nod  his  head.  (She 
sighs.)  Ah,  dear,  our  children  seem  to  be  slipping  away 
from  us,  John! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Mebbe  they're  going  past  us.  Sarah. 
It's  natural,  that!  You  and  your  children  can't  keep  pace 
with  each  other  all  your  life.  They  must  get  ahead  of  you 
some  time.  It  hurts  you  when  you  feel  them  outstripping 


John  Ferguson  103 

you,  but  it's  the  way  God  works,  and  sure  He  doesn't  leave 
you  without  a  consolation  of  some  sort.  God  never  hits 
you  with  both  hands  at  the  one  time,  Sarah,  and  if  we're 
losing  our  children,  we're  finding  ourselves.  You  and 
me's  drawing  closer  to  one  another,  woman! 

[He  holds  out  his  hand  to  her. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (taking  his  hand).  Ay,  John.,  we  are. 
We  were  always  good  comrades  since  ever  we  were  married, 
you  and  me,  for  all  the  trouble  we've  had. 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  wife,  ay ! 

[He  takes  up  the  Bible  again  and  reads  it  to 
himself.  As  he  does  so,  HANNAH  enters 
the  kitchen.  Her  manner  is  more  re- 
strained than  it  was  when  the  play  began, 
and  she  seems  to  be  older  in  manner. 
Her  actions  appear  to  be  independent  of 
her  thoughts. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  You're  back  again,  Hannah? 
HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  ma ! 

[She  takes  off  her  outdoor  garments  and  lays 

them  aside. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Well,  Hannah,  how  is  Jimmy  the 
day? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  He  seemed  quieter  in  his  mind, 
da. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Has  he  confessed  the  truth  yet  ? 
HANNAH  FERGUSON.  No.  I  didn't  like  to  mention  it  to 
him,  and  he  didn't  say  anything  to  nie.  But  I  know  he 
hasn't  confessed,  because  I  went  to  Mulhern,  the  solicitor, 
afterwards,  and  he  told  me  Jimmy  still  makes  out  that  he 
didn't  do  it. 

[She  comes  and  sits  at  the  table,  facing  the  audience. 


IO4  John  Ferguson 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  wish  he'd  unburden  his  mind.  It's 
no  good  him  keeping  it  up  like  that.  What  does  Mulhern 
say  about  it? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  He  doesn't  know  what  to  think. 
He  says  that  when  he's  by  himself  he  feels  sure  Jimmy  did 
it,  but  when  he's  with  Jimmy  he  begins  to  be  doubtful. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Doubtful. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Ay.  There's  something  about  the 
Way  Jimmy  denies  it  that  near  makes  you  believe  him. 
All  the  same,  Mulhern  thinks  he  did  it,  and  he  says  that  if 
he  was  to  confess,  it  would  be  better  for  him.  There  are 
extenuating  circumstances  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Nothing  can  extenuate  a  murder, 
Hanah !  God's  Word  is  clear.  "  But  I  say  unto  you 
which  hear,  Love  your  enemies,  do  good  to  them  that  hate 
you.  Bless  them  that  curse  you,  and  pray  for  them  that 
despitefully  use  you.  And  unto  him  that  smiteth  thee  on 
the  one  cheek  offer  also  the  other;  and  him  that  taketh 
away  thy  cloke  forbid  him  not  to  take  thy  coat  also." 
Them  words  is  plain  enough.  You  can't  twist  them  out 
of  their  meaning.  There  can  be  no  excuse,  Hannah,  for  a 
bad  deed :  there  can  only  be  repentance  and  forgiveness. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  We  all  have  our  natures,  da ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  daughter,  we  have,  but  there's 
the  one  duty  for  the  whole  of  us. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I  met  John  Comber  on  the  road, 
and  he's  set  on  getting  up  a  petition  for  Jimmy.  He  says 
the  judge  is  sure  to  sentence  him  to  death  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  God  save  us ! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  .  .  .  and  so  we'd  better  be  pre- 
pared to  do  all  that's  needful. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  sure,  they'll  never  hang  him 


John  Ferguson  105 

when  they  know  all  the  facts.  It  wouldn't  be  honest  or 
fair,  and  there's  many  says  Witherow  should  have  been 
shot  long  ago.  They'll  mebbe  give  Jimmy  penal  servitude 
for  life. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  That's  worse  nor  hanging.  They 
take  your  life,  but  they  don't  give  you  death. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (sighing).  Ah,  I  daresay  you're 
right!  Dear  knows,  when  you  think  of  what  they  do  to 
you,  you'd  wonder  anybody  ever  killed  a  person  at  all. 

[SAM  MAWHINNEY,  the  postman,  conies  to 
the  door. 

SAM  MAWHINNEY.  I'm  not  empty-handed  this  time, 
Mrs.  Ferguson.  I've  a  letter  for  you  the  day. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  A  letter? 

SAM  MAWHINNEY.  Ay,  from  America.  The  mail's  in 
the  day ! 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (going  to  him  and  taking  the  letter 
from  him).  A  letter  from  America! 

SAM  MAWHINNEY.  Ay !  Don't  you  mind  the  last  time 
the  mail  come  in  you  were  expecting  a  letter  from  America, 
and  you  were  quare  and  cut  up  because  you  didn't  get  it? 
I  declare  to  my  goodness  it  was  the  very  day  Witherow 
was  shot.  A  fortnight  the  day!  I  never  thought  of  that 
now! 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (absently).  Thank  you,  Sam! 

SAM  MAWHINNEY.  Ah,  not  at  all.  I  only  hope  it's 
good  news  for  you.  Are  you  keeping  your  health,  Mr. 
Ferguson  ? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I'm  bravely,  thank  you,  Sam! 

SAM  MAWHINNEY.  That's  right.  Good-evening  to 
you,  Hannah!  Well,  I  must  be  going.  Good-night  to 
you  all ! 


io6  John  Ferguson 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Good-night  to  you,  Sam! 

[SAM  MAWHINNEY  goes  off. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (standing  in  the  centre  of  the  kitchen 
gazing  vacantly  at  the  letter).  It's  from  Andrew,  John! 
Will  I  open  it? 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay ! 

[She  opens  the  envelope  and  takes  out  the 
letter  and  an  order  for  money  which  are 
inside. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Oh,  he's  sent  the  money  to  pay  the 
mortgage ! 

[She  holds  the  order  in  her  fingers  and  gazes 
stupidly  at  it  for  a  few  moments.     They 
are  all  silent  for  a  while. 
HANNAH  FERGUSON  (bitterly).  God's  late,  da! 
JOHN  FERGUSON  (feeling  the  blow  to  his  faith) .  Don't, 
daughter,  don't. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (getting  up  and  going  to  the  win- 
dow). Oh,  it's  wicked,  it's  wicked! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  If  it  had  only  come  by  the  last  mail ! 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  There  must  be  some  meaning  in  it. 
There  must  be !     God  doesn't  make  mistakes. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Will  I  read  the  letter  to  you,  John  ? 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay!     Ay,  do! 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (sitting  down  at  the  table).  There's 
not  much  in  it.  (She  peers  at  the  letter.)  I  can't  under- 
stand his  writing  without  my  specs. ! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (coming  to  her  and  taking  the  let- 
ter from  her).  I'll  read  it,  ma!  (She,  too,  sits  down  at 
the  table,  and  she  reads  the  letter  aloud.)  "  Dear  Brother, 
I  received  your  letter  safe,  and  am  sorry  to  hear  about 


John  Ferguson  107 

your  trouble,  but  am  glad  to  see  that  you  are  better  in  your- 
self and  that  Sarah  and  Andrew  and  Hannah  are  keeping 
their  health  as  I  am,  too,  thank  God.  It  is  a  great  deal  of 
money  to  send,  and  I  have  had  a  lot  of  bother  to  raise  it, 
but  I  could  not  let  the  farm  go  out  of  the  family  without 
making  an  effort,  so  I  send  the  money  to  you  with  this  let- 
ter. If  I  am  well-spared  I  will  mebbe  come  home  and  see 
you  all.  I  am  getting  tired  of  America.  It  is  no  place 
for  an  old  man  that  wasn't  born  here.  Remember  me  to 
all  my  friends  and  acquaintances,  and  with  my  best  love 
and  respect  to  all  at  home,  I  am,  your  affectionate  brother, 
Andrew.  P.S. — Write  soon."  (She  turns  the  letter 
over.)  There's  a  piece  on  the  other  side.  "  P.S. —  I  am 
sorry  I  missed  the  mail  yesterday.  I  made  a  mistake  in 
the  day,  but  I  daresay  this  will  reach  you  in  time. —  An- 
drew." 

[She  puts  the  letter  down.  They  sit  in  si- 
lence. Then  HANNAH  begins  to  laugh 
hysterically. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Isn't  it  quare  and  funny,  da? 
Isn't  it  funny  ?  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (going  to  her  and  shaking  her). 
Hannah,  Hannah,  for  dear  sake,  control  yourself! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (lapsing  from  laughter  to  tears). 
Where's  the  right  in  it,  da?  Where's  the  right  in  it?  It's 
not  just!  It's  not  fair! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  quit,  Hannah ! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  There  would  have  been  none  of 
this  if  he  hadn't  forgotten  the  right  day,  none  of  it  ... 
Oh,  da,  da !  [ANDREW  FERGUSON  enters. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Is  anything  the  matter  ? 


io8  John  Ferguson 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  No,  no,  Andrew!  Nothing's  the 
matter!  Nothing!  Your  uncle  Andrew  forgot  the  mail- 
day,  that's  all !  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (to  his  father).  What's  up,  da? 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (feebly).  It's  .  .  .  it's  your  uncle  .  .  . 

[He  becomes  incoherent. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Your  uncle  Andrew's  sent  the  money 
to  pay  the  mortgage,  son.  He  forgot  the  mail-day,  and 
just  missed  it.  If  he  hadn't  forgot,  the  money  would  have 
been  here  before  .  .  .  before  Jimmy  killed  Witherow! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Ay!  Ay!  Before  —  before  Jimmy 
killed  Witherow!  And  then  my  da  says  it  was  all 
planned!  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (with  a  queer  wrinkled  smile  on  his 
face,  as  he  takes  up  the  letter  and  fingers  it).  Huh!  Un- 
cle Andrew  never  had  a  good  memory,  had  he?  (No  one 
speaks.)  Well,  the  farm's  safe  anyway. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  the  farm's  safe! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  We  can't  understand  everything.  It's 
no  good  trying  to  puzzle  it  all  out.  We  must  just  have 
faith  .  .  .  that's  all!  Just  have  faith ! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  One  man's  dead  and  another's  in 
jail  in  danger  of  his  life  because  my  uncle  Andrew  forgot 
the  mail-day. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  It's  .  .  .  it's  a  quare  set-out ! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay!     (Sighing  heavily.)     Ay! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (hysterically).  Ha!  Ha,  ha!  Ha, 
ha,  ha!  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Andrew,  Andrew,  son,  don't  you  give 
way,  too !  Set  an  example  to  your  sister  of  self-control ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (recovering  himself).  Ay!  Ay, 
da,  I  will.  [He  sits  down. 


John  Ferguson  109 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Hannah's  just  come  back  from  see- 
ing Jimmy,  Andrew! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Oh!  Oh!  Oh,  yes,  I  remember, 
she  was  going  to  see  him  the  day,  wasn't  she?  (His  -voice 
is  very  hard  and  strained. )  What  was  he  like,  Hannah  ? 

[HANNAH  does  not  answer. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  She  says  he  was  quieter  in  his 
mind  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  That's  good.  It's  good  to  be  quiet 
in  your  mind !  It's  well  for  him. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  It's  not  well  for  him,  Andrew.  He 
still  denies  that  he  killed  Witherow  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Mebbe  he  didn't  kill  him,  da! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  would  like  to  believe  that,  but  I 
can't. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  He  ought  to  have  killed  him. 
(More  emphatically.)  He  ought  to  have  killed  him  .  .  . 
but  he  didn't. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ah,  son,  what's  the  good  of  talking 
that  way.  You  and  Hannah's  overstrung,  and  you  hardly 
know  what  you're  saying  or  doing,  the  pair  of  you.  I've 
noticed  how  quiet  you've  been  lately,  and  I  believe  you've 
been  brooding  over  Jimmy  till  now  you  can't  think  clearly 
about  him. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  He  didn't  kill  Witherow,  da.  He 
hadn't  the  pluck  to  kill  him.  It  was  me  that  done  it! 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (starting  up).  You! 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (quietly).  Sit  down,  Sarah!  The 
lad's  beside  himself.  (MRS.  FERGUSON  resumes  her  seat.) 
Andrew,  you  must  not  give  way  to  your  fancies  like  that! 
(He  rises  and  faces  him.)  Come  to  bed,  son,  and  rest 
yourself.  You  look  tired  and  exhausted. 


no  John  Ferguson 

[He  takes  hold  of  ANDREW'S  arm  and  tries  to 

lead  him  to  the  stairs. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (eluding  his  father's  grasp).  No, 

da,  I'm  not  away  in  the  mind,  as  you  think.     I  know 

rightly  what  I'm  saying.     It  was  me  that  killed  Witherow! 

[Now  that  he  has  confessed  his  deed  his  voice 

becomes  quite  calm. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  You're  demented,  son ! 
ANDREW  FERGUSON.  No,  da,  I'm  not.     I  killed  him. 
With  that  gun  there. 

[He  points  to  the  gun  over  the  mantel- shelf '. 
SARAH  FERGUSON  (in  terrible  alarm).  Son-a-dear,  do 
you  know  what  you're  saying  ? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  know  rightly,  ma. 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  It's  not  true,  it's  not  true. 

[JOHN  FERGUSON  has  been  standing  gaping  at 
his  son  as  if  he  cannot  understand  what 
he  is  saying.     Then,  as  comprehension 
comes  to  him,  he  goes  to  ANDREW  and 
grips  him  by  the  shoulder. 
JOHN  FERGUSON  (almost  harshly).  Andrew! 
ANDREW  FERGUSON  (quietly).  Ay,  da! 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  Do  you  mean  ...  do  you  mean  you 
killed  Witherow? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  do,  da! 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (releasing  his  grip  and  staggering 
back  a  little).  Oh,  my  God,  my  God! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  It's  not  true,  John,  it's  not  true. 
The  poor  lad's  mind  is  turned  with  trouble. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  It  is  true.  I  knew  that  Jimmy 
wouldn't  kill  him,  so  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  kill  him 
myself  .  .  . 


John  Ferguson  in 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (wildly).  Quit,  quit,  quit!  I  must 
think  ...  I  must  think! 

[He  goes  back  to  his  chair  and  sinks  into  it. 
As  he  does  so,  his  hand  touches  his  Bible. 
He  pushes  it  away  from  him. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (going  to  her  brother  and  putting 
her  arms  about  him).  Andrew,  dear! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I'm  not  sorry  I  killed  him,  Han- 
nah! 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  No,  Andrew,  I  know  you're  not. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  But  I'm  ashamed  to  think  I  let 
Jimmy  bear  the  blame  for  it.  That's  as  bad  as  him  hid- 
ing under  the  whin-bush  when  he  should  have  been  killing 
Witherow  himself.  It's  been  on  my  mind  ever  since  the 
peelers  took  him  up.  That's  the  only  thing  that  disturbs 
me.  I  lie  awake  at  night,  and  I  say  to  myself,  "  You 
took  Jimmy's  place  of  your  own  free  will,  but  you  made 
him  take  your  place  against  his  will !  "  Mind  you,  I  felt 
no  more  remorse  when  I  killed  Witherow  nor  a  terrier  feels 
when  it  kills  a  rat. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  No,  Andrew,  why  would  you  ? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  went  up  to  his  farm,  and  when  I 
got  there  the  dog  begun  to  bark,  and  Witherow  come  to  the 
door.  "  Is  that  you,  Jimmy  Caesar  ? "  he  shouted. 
"  Have  you  come  to  kill  me  ?  "  He  let  a  big  coarse  laugh 
out  of  him  when  he  said  that,  and  I  could  feel  my  heart 
jumping  mad  inside  me.  "  It's  not  Jimmy  Caesar!  "  I 
shouted  back  at  him;  "  it's  me!  "  I  could  see  him  strain- 
ing to  look  at  me,  and  his  features  was  puzzled.  Then  I 
put  my  gun  up  to  my  shoulder,  and  I  took  aim  at  him. 
"Away  home  out  of  that!"  he  shouted.  And  then  I 
pulled  the  trigger,  and  he  let  a  yell  out  of  him  and  fell  in 


112  John  Ferguson 

a  lump  on  the  ground.  The  dog  was  barking  and  strain- 
ing at  its  chain  .  .  . 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Poor  beast! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  But  I  didn't  mind  that.  I 
shouted  at  it  to  lie  down,  and  then  I  come  straight  home. 
I  mind  when  I  was  half-way  home,  I  said  to  myself, 
"  Mebbe  you've  not  killed  him,"  and  I  was  near  turning 
back  to  make  sure.  But  I  just  didn't  .  .  .  There  was 
no  one  in  the  kitchen  when  I  come  in,  and  I  put  the  gun 
back  where  I  found  it,  and  no  one  knew  .  .  .  except  me. 
It  never  entered  no  one's  mind  that  it  was  me  killed  him. 
I  was  safe  enough,  and  at  first  I  didn't  care  whether 
Jimmy  got  hung  or  not  I  said  to  myself  it  would  serve 
him  right  if  he  was  hung  for  being  a  collie.  And  then  I 
tried  to  comfort  myself  by  saying  he  wouldn't  be  hung  at 
all  when  the  people  knew  the  way  he'd  been  provoked. 
But  it  wasn't  any  good.  I  got  more  and  more  ashamed, 
and  I  couldn't  sit  still  in  the  house  with  you  all.  and  my 
da  saying  Jimmy  ought  to  confess.  I  couldn't  rest  no- 
where. The  only  consolation  I  had  was  to  go  into  the 
fields  and  listen  to  "  Clutie  "  playing  his  whistle.  He 
knew  it  was  me  done  it  for  all  he  didn't  say  anything  .  .  . 
[JOHN  FERGUSON  rouses  himself  from  the 
lethargy  into  which  he  sank  when  he 
heard  his  son's  confession.  He  gets  up 
from  his  chair  and  takes  hold  of  ANDREW 
as  if  he  were  protecting  him  from  some 
danger. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  We  must  hide  him  somewhere. 
That's  what  we  must  do.  We'll  send  you  to  America, 
Andrew,  to  live  with  your  uncle.  Ay,  ay!  That's  what 
the  money  was  for!  You  may  be  certain  sure  that  was 


John  Ferguson  113 

what  it  come  for!  You'll  be  safe  when  you're  out  of  the 
country,  son !  No  one  '11  harm  you  in  America !  ( To  his 
wife.)  Stir  yourself,  Sarah,  woman,  stir  yourself! 
We've  no  time  to  lose.  The  peelers  might  hear  it  and 
come  any  minute.  (To  ANDREW.)  Come  on,  son,  and 
get  ready !  You  must  quit  the  place  the  night  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  No,  da  ... 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  son,  you  must!  You  can  go  up 
to  Belfast  by  the  next  train,  and  we'll  send  the  money  to 
you  there.  You'd  better  change  your  name,  son!  .  .  . 
(He  puts  his  hands  to  his  head  as  if  he  were  dazed.)  I'm 
all  moidhered!  Sarah,  Sarah,  woman! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  John? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  We  must  hide  him  the  night.  Do 
you  understand  me?  Mebbe  some  one  heard  him  telling 
us  about  it.  You  never  know  who's  listening,  and  the 
world's  full  of  clash-bags!  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  can't  go,  da,  and  leave  Jimmy  in 
the  wrong. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Yes,  yes,  son!  That'll  be  all 
right!  We'll  think  about  Jimmy  afterwards.  Come  and 
get  ready  now,  son! 

[He  tries  to  lead  ANDREW  to  the  staircase,  but 
ANDREW  resists  him. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Go  with  your  da,  son,  and  get  ready! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (freeing  himself  from  them  and  sit- 
ting down  again).  I  must  do  right  by  Jimmy  for  my  peace' 
sake. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  No,  son,  you  must  save  yourself  first. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  You're  asking  me  to  do  what  you 
wouldn't  let  Jimmy  do  for  all  he  begged  you! 

JOHN  FERGUSON   (fiercely).  You're  my  son,  Andrew, 


114  John  Ferguson 

and  Jimmy's  not!  He  always  meant  to  kill  Witherow. 
Many's  a  time  you  all  heard  him  say  he  would  do  it! 
Didn't  you?  You  mocked  him  yourselves  over  the  head 
of  it.  He  killed  the  man  many's  a  while  in  his  mind,  and 
the  Bible  says  if  you  think  a  sin  you  commit  a  sin.  (He 
takes  hold  of  ANDREW  again.)  Come  away,  son!  Han- 
nah, persuade  him  .  .  . 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  I  can't,  da.  Andrew  knows 
what's  best  for  himself. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Do  you  want  your  brother  hanged, 
Hannah?  Is  that  what  you  want? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  What  peace  will  Andrew  have  if 
Jimmy  suffers  for  him? 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  That's  what  I  say  to  myself 
many's  a  time,  Hannah !  You  see  that  yourself,  da,  don't 
you? 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (feebly  going  to  his  chair).  I've  suf- 
fered enough!  I've  suffered  enough,  Andrew!  It's  not  just 
or  right  to  put  more  trouble  on  me  now.  I've  lost  my 
health  .  .  .  and  then  there  was  the  mortgage,  and  .  .  . 
Hannah  .  .  .  and  Jimmy  .  .  .  and  now!  .  .  .  Oh,  I've 
bore  enough,  and  it's  not  fair  to  ask  me  to  bear  any  more. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  We  all  have  to  make  our  own 
peace,  da.  We  can't  have  it  made  for  us.  You  used  al- 
ways to  say  that. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Hannah's  right,  da.  There'll  be 
no  content  for  me  till  I  content  myself.  (He  rises.)  I'll 
go  down  now  to  the  barracks  and  tell  the  sergeant. 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (turning  to  him  and  speaking  brok- 
enly). Son,  son!  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  I'll  not  have  him  made  suffer!    (Go- 


John  Ferguson  115 

ing  to  ANDREW  and  holding  him  tightly.)  I'll  not  let 
you  go,  Andrew,  I'll  not  let  you  go! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  must  go,  ma,  for  my  peace'  sake. 
Every  minute  that  Jimmy's  locked  in  jail  is  a  burden  on 
my  mind.  I've  mocked  the  man  times  and  times  for  a 
coward,  though  he  couldn't  help  his  nature,  but  I'm  worse 
nor  him  a  hundred  times. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Be  wheesht  with  you,  son,  be 
wheesht ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Eating  the  heart  out  of  me,  it  is. 
Gnawing  and  gnawing!  ...  I  never  get  the  picture  of 
Jimmy  out  of  my  mind !  I  run  for  miles  this  morning  to 
try  and  tire  myself  out  so's  I  could  sleep  and  rest  myself, 
but  I  can't  get  content  nohow.  That's  the  way  of  it,  ma. 
You  understand  me,  da,  don't  you? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  son,  I  understand  you. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  You  can  go  to  America,  Andrew,  the 
way  your  da  said  you  could,  and  when  you're  safe  you  can 
send  home  a  confession  to  save  Jimmy.  That  would  do, 
wouldn't  it? 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (eagerly  clutching  at  the  straw).  Ay, 
ay,  that  would  do,  Andrew. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Or  we  could  go  ourselves  and  tell  the 
peelers  when  you  were  safely  out  of  it. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  They  might  think  it  was  a  made- 
up  thing  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (rounding  on  her).  Quit,  you!  It 
doesn't  become  you,  Hannah,  to  be  telling  your  brother 
what  to  do  when  it's  your  fault  he's  in  the  trouble  he  is. 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Ma,  ma,  don't  say  it  ... 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  you  can  cry  well  enough,  but 


n6  John  Ferguson 

that'll  not  save  you  from  the  blame.  If  you'd  taken 
Jimmy  at  the  start  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Sarah,  woman,  don't  .  .  .  don't  talk 
to  her  that  way! 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  I  will  talk  to  her.  It  was  her  that 
killed  Witherow,  and  no  one  else.  It's  her  that  ought  to 
be  hanged  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (standing  up  and  shouting  at  his 
mother).  Ma! 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (collapsing).  Am  I  to  see  my  own 
son  sent  to  the  gallows  ?  Am  I  to  sit  still  and  let  you  hang 
him  between  you?  John,  are  you  going  to  let  Hannah 
drive  Andrew  to  the  jail?  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  She's  not  driving  me,  ma.  No 
one  could. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (ignoring  her  son).  John,  will  you  be 
content  to  let  her  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON  (patiently).  I'm  trying  to  discover 
God's  will,  Sarah. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (passionately).  I  don't  want  God's 
will!  I  want  my  son!  It's  nothing  to  me  what  he  done 

—  he's  my  son!     I  don't  care  if  he  killed  a  hundred  men 

—  he's  my  son !     I'll  not  let  him  go  to  the  jail.     I'll  take 
him  away  myself  to  some  place  where  he'll  be  safe.     (She 
goes  over  to  ANDREW.)     Get  ready,  Andrew,  and  we'll  go 
away  together  the  night.     Your  da  wanted  you  to  go  a 
minute  since.     (She  tries  to  draw  him  away  from  his  seat.) 
Come  with  me,  son,  and  don't  be  heeding  Hannah. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (resisting  her).  Don't,  ma.  (He 
turns  to  his  father.)  Da! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  can't  advise  you,  son.  Don't  ask 
me.  I  was  weak  a  minute  ago.  I  forgot  God's  will. 


John  Ferguson  117 

Mebbe  you're  right,  son  .  .  .  but  don't  ask  me  to  advise 
you.  I'm  getting  old,  and  I  haven't  the  strength  of  mind  I 
had  one  time  .  .  . 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  You'll  never  let  him  go  and  give 
himself  up,  will  you  ?  Oh,  have  you  no  nature  at  all,  none 
of  you  ?  I  thought  you  took  pride  in  him,  John !  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  I  did  take  pride  in  him,  but  I  take  no 
pride  in  anything  now.  I  must  have  sinned  bitterly 
against  God  to  be  punished  this  way.  It  must  have  been 
something  I  done  that's  brought  calamity  on  us.  I'd  be 
willing  to  pay  whatever  price  was  demanded  of  me  ... 
but  Andrew!  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Da,  a  man  must  clean  himself 
mustn't  he? 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay.     Ay,  son ! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  It's  no  good  other  people  doing 
things  for  him.  He  must  do  them  himself. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Yes,  yes. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  And  it's  no  good  any  one  doing 
anything  for  me.  I  must  do  it  myself,  da.  Jimmy  can't 
pay  for  me.  He  can  only  pay  for  himself. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  I  won't  let  you  go,  son!  .  .  . 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  If  they  were  to  hang  Jimmy,  ma, 
or  to  keep  him  in  jail  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  do  you  think 
would  I  be  happy? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ah,  but  you  could  forget,  son,  in  a 
new  place.  We'd  go  where  no  one  knew  anything  about 
us  and  begin  all  over  again. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  We'd  know,  ma.  Oh,  don't  you 
mind  what  my  da  said  to  Jimmy:  "  You  can't  hide  from 
yourself  "  ?  There's  nothing  truer  nor  that. 

SARAH  FERGUSON  (beating  her  breast).  Oh,  will  no  one 


Ii8  John  Ferguson 

help  me  to  keep  my  son  safe?     Will  you  all  take  him 
from  me?  [ANDREW  goes  to  her  and  kisses  her  hair. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  It's  best  this  way,  ma.     You'll  see 
that  yourself  some  day. 

[MRS.  FERGUSON  clutches  him  to  her. 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  Don't  leave  me,  son. 
ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I  must,  ma,  for  my  peace'  sake! 
(He  kisses  her  and  then  releases  himself  from  her  embrace. 
She  buries  her  face  on  the  table  and  sobs  without  re- 
straint.)    Will  you  come  to  the  barracks  with  me,  da? 

[JOHN  FERGUSON  looks  up  piteously  at  his 
son.  His  will  fails  him,  and  he  puts  out 
his  hands  in  supplication  to  ANDREW, 
and  then,  recovering  himself,  draws  them 
in  again. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Don't  ask  me,  son ;  I  couldn't  bear  it. 
ANDREW  FERGUSON.  It'll  be  lonely  going  there  by  my- 
self.    Will  you  come,  Hannah  ? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (quietly).  Ay,  Andrew. 
ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Thank  you,  Hannah. 

[He  puts  on  his  coat  and  cap.  HANNAH 
picks  up  the  garments  which  she  threw 
aside  when  she  first  came  into  the 
kitchen,  and  puts  them  on.  There  is  si- 
lence, save  for  MRS.  FERGUSON'S  sobs, 
while  they  do  so. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Good-night,  da! 
JOHN  FERGUSON    (without  looking  up).  Good-night, 
Andrew ! 

[ANDREW  bends  down  to  kiss  his  father,  who 

draws  him  close  to  him. 
JOHN  FERGUSON  (brokenly).  My  son,  my  son! 


John  Ferguson  119 

ANDREW  FERGUSON    chokingly).  Da! 

[He  releases  himself  and  goes  to  his  mother. 
ANDREW  FERGUSON.  Good-night,  ma! 
SARAH  FERGUSON  (starting  up  and  clinging  to  him). 
No,  no,  Andrew,  no! 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (firmly).  Good-night,  ma! 

[He  kisses  her,  and  then  gently  releases  him- 
self from  her  clasp  and  puts  her  back 
into  her  chair. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (to  his  father).  I  think  John 
Luke  '11  be  able  to  take  care  of  the  farm  for  a  day  or  two, 
but  I  wouldn't  trust  him  longer,  da.  He's  bone  idle,  that 
man,  and  you'd  better  get  some  one  else  as  soon  as  you  can. 
If  you  were  to  get  some  one  that  understood  management, 
he  would  do  rightly  as  a  labourer  if  he  was  watched  well. 
Arthur  Cairnduff  heard  of  a  suitable  person  a  while  ago 
that  might  do. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  son,  ay. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON.  And  Kerr,  the  butcher,  '11  give  you 
a  good  price  for  the  bullock.  (To  HANNAH.)  Are  you 
ready,  Hannah? 

HANNAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  Andrew! 
ANDREW  FERGUSON  (vaguely).  Well,  I'll  bid  you  all 
good-night. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Good-night,  son. 
ANDREW  FERGUSON.  I'll  ...  I'll  mebbe  see  you  again 
.  .  .  some  day! 

[He  pauses  for  a  moment,  but  his  father  does 
not  reply.  HANNAH  opens  the  door  and 
ANDREW  goes  out. 

ANDREW  FERGUSON  (in  the  doorway).  The  air's  turned 
cold. 


I2O  John  Ferguson 

HANNAH  FERGUSON  (to  her  father).  I'll  be  back  as 
soon  as  I  can,  da! 

[She  goes  out,  closing  the  door  behind  her. 
The  sound  rouses  MRS.  FERGUSON,  who 
sits  up  and  gazes  dazedly  about  her. 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  Where  are  they  ?     They're  not  gone  ? 
JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  they've  gone.     Sit  down,  wife. 
SARAH  FERGUSON.  Oh,  why  did  you  let  them  go?     I 
can't  let  him  go,  John,  I  can't  let  him  go! 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  You  must,  Sarah.  God  has  some 
purpose  with  us,  and  there's  no  use  in  holding  out  against 
God,  for  He  knows,  and  we  don't. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  I  won't  let  him  go!  (She  goes  to 
the  door  and  opens  it.)  I'll  bring  him  back! 

[She  goes  out,  shouting  "Andrew!  Andrew/!" 
and  leaves  the  door  open.  JOHN  FER- 
GUSON sits  brooding  before  the  fire  for  a 
few  moments.  Then  he  gets  up,  moving 
feebly,  and  goes  across  the  room  and  shuts 
the  door.  When  he  has  done  so  he 
stands  for  a  moment  or  two  gazing  help- 
lessly about  the  room.  Then  he  goes 
back  to  his  seat.  As  he  sits  down,  his 
hand  comes  in  contact  with  the  open 
Bible.  Almost  mechanically  he  picks  it 
up  and  begins  to  read  where  he  left  off 
when  the  Act  began.  His  Ups  move  as 
he  reads  to  himself.  Then  he  slowly 
reads  aloud. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  "  And  the  king  said  unto  Cushi,  Is 
the  young  man  Absalom  safe?  .  .  ." 


John  Ferguson  121 

[  The  door  opens,  and  MRS.  FERGUSON,  weep- 
ing, enters. 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  They've  gone !  They  wouldn't  come 
back!  It's  not  right  to  be  sending  him  away  like  that! 
He's  my  only  son,  and  I'm  an  old  woman.  You  had  no 
call  to  be  sending  him  away. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Isn't  he  the  only  son  I  have  too?  Is 
it  any  easier  for  a  father  to  give  up  his  son  nor  it  is  for  a 
mother?  Has  a  man  no  pride  in  his  child,  and  no  grief 
when  it  dies  or  does  wrong?  Is  it  women  only  that  can 
feel  hurt?  Woman,  woman,  your  sorrow  is  no  more  nor 
mine,  and  mine  is  no  more  nor  yours.  We're  just  stricken 
together.  Come  here,  Sarah!  (She  comes  to  him}.  Sit 
down,  woman,  here  by  the  side  of  me,  and  give  me  a  hold 
of  your  hand.  (She  sits  down  on  the  stool  beside  him.) 
We've  been  married  a  long  while,  Sarah,  and  shared  our 
good  fortune  and  our  bad.  We've  had  our  pride  and  our 
humiliation.  God's  been  good  to  us  and  He's  been  bitter 
hard.  But  whatever  it  was  we've  bore  it  together,  haven't 
we? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  Ay,  John. 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  And  we'll  bear  this  together  too, 
woman,  won't  we? 

SARAH  FERGUSON.  It's  a  hard  thing  for  any  one  to  bear. 
Your  own  son  to  be  taken  from  you  .  .  . 

JOHN  FERGUSON.  Ay,  wife,  it  is,  but  we  must  just  bear 
it,  for  God  knows  better  nor  we  do  what's  right  to  be  done. 
(He  takes  up  the  Bible  again.)  Listen  to  God's  Word, 
Sarah,  and  that'll  strengthen  you.  (He  continues  his 
reading.)  "  And  the  king  said  unto  Cushi,  Is  the  young 
man  Absalom  safe?  And  Cushi  answered,  The  enemies 


122  John  Ferguson 

of  my  lord  the  king,  and  all  that  rise  against  thee  to  do 
thee  hurt,  be  as  that  young  man  is.  And  the  king  was 
much  moved,  and  went  up  to  the  chamber  over  the  gate, 
and  wept:  and  as  he  went  (his  voice  begins  to  break  as  he 
reads  the  following  passages),  thus  he  said,  O  my  son 
Absalom,  my  son,  my  son  Absalom!  Would  God  I  had 
died  for  thee,  O  Absalom,  my  son  .  .  .  my  son." 

[His  voice  ends  in  a  sob.  The  Bible  falls 
from  his  hands  on  to  his  lap.  He  sits 
staring  into  the  fire.  There  is  a  low 
moan  from  his  wife. 


THE   END 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES   OF    AMERICA 


DATE  DUE 


PRINTED  IN  U.S.A. 


A    000811  219    5 


